Attempting Fate
by DirtyPopsicles
Summary: After 3 years apart, Lisbon comes back into Jane's life with a personal request. This simple request will send them on a race against a maniacal convict with a personal and dangerous attentiveness toward Lisbon, and have Jane and Lisbon revisit their complex relationship with each other to see what went wrong and how to move on together. AU. Post 6.09.
1. In Search Of

**Chapter 1 - In Search Of**

* * *

She shielded herself from the torrent of rain that slid heavily from the clouds above her, pulling her coat closer to her body and trying to maintain control of the umbrella that was forcing itself inside out from the brutal winds blowing in from the ocean to the north. She sighed deeply as her boots hit deep pockets of rainwater beneath her, the dodging only forcing her through the thick crowd of people slower and messier than she thought it would. She didn't stop until she got to halfway up the block, turning herself to the front of the building and sloping the umbrella on her shoulder as her eyes raked quickly over the bricks and mortar, passing over the glass doors that were the entrance, and to the sign above. Again, she sighed; this sigh was heavier and elongated. The view in the front window did no favors in improving her mood, choosing to press her eyes in a roll and shake her head.

"I really, _really_ need another job," she muttered to herself, starting up the few steps leading to the doors. "Please."

That was a moot point if a moot point ever did exist. She knew there was no other job for her. This was it. She loved this job. If she didn't, she would have split long ago, especially after Jane left. If she had half a brain, she thought, she would have packed up her office, said goodbye to everyone and everything that reminded her of that time in her life, and booked it somewhere peaceful and calm. But no. She couldn't do that. She loved it too much. As many painful memories as she had, there was little else she wanted to do.

She reached for the door handle, turning herself to corral the umbrella before entering the small, crowded area. She hated jam-packed places. Especially ones filled with creepy—albeit, loyal—people. The small studio was not exactly what she was expecting when Abbott had given her the address and told her what he wanted her to do. Somehow, she was expecting a palatial house on the beach, or even a boat somewhere warm and sunny. The fact it was in a small town in humdrum Oregon baffled her. But, wherever Patrick Jane was concerned, nothing really surprised her much anymore. Not even his re-emergence via FBI contract could surprise her. His demands, however, had. It had shaken their relationship to the core, and more importantly, it had separated them; a choice not of her own volition.

She stood in line, which consisted of about twenty people, following the line as it shrunk in size with each minute that passed. When she got to being the fifth person back, she could make out the top of his head. Nothing had changed there in the three years they had been apart since his re-emergence. He still had the blond locks flowing long, combed back from his forehead and set with styling gel to keep it in place. She also could smell that his cologne had not changed, either. It was a mix of sandalwood and menthol. A smell that, if a gun was pointed at her head, she'd say was inebriating.

"Do you have your ticket, ma'am?" a dark-haired, skinny man asked, holding out his palm expectantly for the ticket she didn't have. "I can give you the stub back if you want." He smiled brightly at her, his fake smile giving away how much he hated his job. Lisbon grinned back, reaching into her pocket and producing her FBI badge.

"No, thanks," said Lisbon brightly. "I'm a special guest this evening."

She watched the kid's—she thought he was maybe nineteen or twenty—face blanch at the sight of her badge and nod his head slightly, pointing to a row of seats just four up from the main stage. She thanked him (smiling to herself that as small as she was, the badge always managed to make people do what she wanted), put the badge back into her pocket, and sat down where he had indicated. She had a good view of the stage, and of Jane. Her eyes steadied on him, taking in that his appearance had not changed, either, when it came to his clothing. He still wore the same suits as before, though the island shirt he had come back to the USA in had been ditched in favor of a white cotton t-shirt. He did not wear the vest, still; a fact that disappointed her for some reason. His shoes were new, too. The old, dirty brown ones were nicked in favor of clean, black ones and his jacket matched his trousers. Other than those small changes, everything else looked the same from the last time she had seen him.

She watched him in silence at his animated discussion with a man wearing a microphone, nodding his head and laughing as they looked at a sheet of paper the man, who she guessed was the producer, held in his hand. She wondered if anything in his personal life had changed for him besides his change in profession. Was he seeing anyone? Married? She doubted it, but she couldn't be sure. She was thinking of this possibility, and why it made her feel sullen when a tap on her arm startled her.

"Sorry if I scared you," a woman with short, red hair told her, leaning in to make sure she was heard. "Are you excited to see Mr. Jane? I've been waiting for months! I'm hoping to reconnect with my sister. How about you? Anyone, in particular, you are hoping he puts you in touch with?"

"Reality," she muttered under her breath. "My mother," she lied off the other woman's facial expression.

"Lovely. Have you met him before? You were gazing at him with a look of nostalgia before," she explained.

Lisbon shook her head vehemently. "I thought I did once."

"What happened?" the meddlesome woman asked.

"The inability to forgive," she replied.

The woman nodded slightly, her face contorted in confusion. Lisbon sighed and faced forward in her seat just as the QUIET sign lit brilliant red.

* * *

He smiled brilliantly, sweat already gathering on his forehead from the lights raised above him, shining evenly and adding a slight glare of the audience. He swept his bluish-green eyes over the filled seats, silently picking out things on different people that spoke more about them than any words could. He watched them file in and quiet down.

He often reflected on his journey back to the stage. It wasn't exactly wrought with ease. He hadn't come to the decision lightly, only doing it out of logical order of things. It was the only thing he could do to sustain himself. He loved the challenge of it, something that every other job—his old stint at the CBI notwithstanding—could not. He had to figure out how to get people to trust him again, which wasn't too hard to do because there were always believers. There were always people looking for hope. His job now was something from his past he hadn't wanted to jump back into, but he felt an almost compulsion; there were nothing left for him when he came back to work with the FBI, and if he didn't find something else to do with his time, he was sure he'd be homeless, aimless or some variation of the two. The one thing he did have left he let go though it pained him. Letting Lisbon go was the one regret in this second chance of his that the FBI afforded him.

 _Lisbon_. Thinking of her brought an unshakable pain in his chest that rushed through his veins and made his legs weak. He sighed and made his way over to the black seat in the middle of the stage, sitting down and waiting for the producer in front of him to hold up one finger, indicating he could begin this taped session, which was set to air a few weeks from now. He shook his head slightly as if to let the thoughts fall from his mind and focus on the task at hand, which was landing his eyes carefully over the people in the crowd. He told them what they wanted to hear or what was an obvious giveaway by either their body language, words, or something they touched. This time around, however, he was careful with his wording and very careful to distinguish lies from hope. It was a fine line, even in his opinion, but there was little to be done about that. He was only doing what the FBI wanted him to do.

He watched as his producer's fingers showed five, and the camera light went from red to yellow. As soon as all the fingers were down and his producer pointed at him, he stood. His eyes fell to the green on the top of the camera, indicating that was the one he was to be looking at. He cleared his throat and stepped across the stage a few paces, smiling widely at the audience, his eyes scanning generally over them.

"My name is Patrick Jane," he started, pointing a finger at himself. "Most of you already know who I am, but let me refresh your memory. I am a master of the mind. I want you to know that what I do is not psychic abilities. There are no such things as psychics. Instead, I tap into you. Dialing into your soul, if you will. You provide me with the tools I need, and I evaluate them."

The crowd applauded, and Jane lifted his hands up to quiet them down. Once they faded their clapping, his eyes raked over the audience, attempting to pick out someone to read. It was as he was making his second pass, his face scrunched in faux thought, that he saw her. At first, he thought it was a trick of the light. It was only after her green eyes caught his that he knew he wasn't seeing things. What was she doing here? It had been three years! His eyes lingered on hers before quickly moving on, though he felt his heart skip a beat. She looked the same, though her hair had bangs now, and she looked a little thinner than he remembered. His eyes fell to the other side of the room, finally, where he picked out a woman, reading her body language—which consisted of touching a bracelet on her wrist and a fifty-fifty shot that it was her mother she was here to be in touch with—making her stand and reading her with near perfect accuracy, only waning a little on the name of her deceased mother. He bounced around for half an hour, finding people to read.

He intentionally looked over at Lisbon, turning his eyes to the woman beside her in a split second, though his gaze wavered infinitesimally back to her. He had deliberately chosen the woman beside her; it was a move of defiance. It was a move that told her without words that he saw her, and he was unfazed by her appearance here. But that was a lie she could not detect because he was fazed. He was curious as hell if he was being completely honest with himself. He smiled when the lady beside her squealed, causing Lisbon to contort her face in irritation at her cackle. He smiled wider as his eyes found Lisbon's lips and read a curse word flying across them.

"You," said Jane to the woman. "You are here because someone you loved has passed on."

"Yes! Yes!" the woman said, clapping her chubby hands.

His eyes fell to the woman's hand, noting that she held a picture of a younger woman. He figured the woman was wanting to come in contact—air quotes necessary around in contact—someone younger than her; she was quite young herself, so the picture in her hands would need to be a daughter or sister. This was confirmed even more by the red hair both the picture and herself shared. A sister was the logical choice.

"I am getting you had a sister? Possibly younger than you," said Jane. "She died young. An illness or maybe a vehicular accident." It was an old trick of his trade; if it wasn't an illness, it had to be an accident or murder. Statistically speaking, murder was almost always ruled out before the others.

"She died of cancer," the woman replied, her hands rubbing the picture she held. "About ten years ago!"

"And you have regrets about something you did or said before she died." Duh. Everyone had regrets. The shoulda-woulda-coulda's were just a part of the grieving process.

He watched her face perceive shock. "Yes," she whispered. "I do!"

He smiled at her and nodded his head. His eyes fell to Lisbon and he felt himself frown again. "Just know that she was here. Whatever happened in the past is in the past. People don't carry over pain and hurt. She understands." His gaze slid back to the woman. "Thank you."

Jane turned and walked over toward the chair stationed in the middle of the stage, his producer holding up five fingers once again. This time, the fingers counted up, letting Jane know that the end of filming was coming. When the alarm buzzed, indicating that the cameras were off, Jane walked off the stage without looking back, walking down the thin hall and into the small room that they assigned as his dressing area. He shut the door with a click and turned around, pressing his back against the door and wondering how long it would take for Lisbon to find him back here. He was both dreading the reunion and excited for it. It was a combination that only she could give him.

His heart skipped a beat when he heard the familiar rap of her small knuckles on the other side of the door.

* * *

She braced herself, choosing to smooth down her coat which was still quite damp from the torrential rains outside. She heard a noise from the other side of the door, followed by the door swinging open, allowing one bluish-green eye to peer out at her. If she wasn't so nervous seeing him for the first time in years, she'd have laughed at his appraising gaze with one eye at her.

"Are you going to let me in, Jane, or are you going to stand there gawking at me?" she asked with a quirk of her lips.

"Uh," he said, clearing his throat, "yeah. Come in, Teresa." He stood back from the door and opened it, allowing her entrance.

 _Teresa_. Her name on his lips made her tremble slightly. She turned around in time to watch him shut the door behind her. "It's nice to see you again, Jane."

He nodded his head in agreement. "You, too, Teresa." He walked past her and sat down on the black leather couch that lined the left wall. He sighed and looked up at her, his expression thoughtful. "What made you look me up?"

She shook her head, walking over and plopping herself beside him on the couch. "No. You don't see me for the first time in three years just to ask me what I want," she told him.

"You did come to see me about something," he told her softly. "And you waited for three years, so I assume it is very important."

"It is," she agreed, "but I would like to hear about how life has been for you, Jane. Last time I saw you, you told me we couldn't be partners, and then asked for a transfer. I thought we could start there."

"You're bitter about that, I understand," Jane replied. "Perhaps we can discuss this later. It would be a long conversation, and I would rather hear about your reasons for being here." He was being honest, but she felt there was a hint of resentment in his voice.

"I'm in town for another two days," said Lisbon with a slight dip of her head. "If you want, we can grab something to eat. Catch up… tell you what I am here for."

He smiled slightly at her. "Dinner? Okay," he said with a curt nod. "I know a nice place. It's a regular of mine." He paused a moment, then, "Tell me, Teresa. Are you in trouble? I can't help but feel your impromptu visit after years of being away is some kind of bearer of bad news kind of thing." He waited, and when she said nothing, he poked again, "Teresa?"

"Yes," she finally gave in.

"Yes, what?"

"I'm in trouble, Jane. A personal matter. I need your help."

* * *

 **A/N: I'm back! My other stories can no longer be found here. I am starting anew, hopefully, with better grammar and a more interesting story for you. They will not be reuploaded, but I hope you find this story equally enjoyable. Thank you so much for sticking with me. I will update this story whenever I have some time. I hope you will enjoy it, and constructive criticism is always welcome! Thank you :) I have a pile of fanfiction updates from other writers, so I might be a little with the update. Until then, thank you in advance.**


	2. Contention

**Chapter 2 – Contention**

* * *

He sipped on his tea (two packets of sugar and a touch of honey, as always) as he gazed out of the glass window, watching for signs of her as the rain spattered against it, lacing it with fat drops of water that slid down and warped his view of the street on either side. Unsatisfied at his line of view being distorted, he checked his watch, turned himself in the booth, set his tea down on the hard plastic table, and training his gaze on the front door of the diner. She'd be here any minute now.

He had chosen the diner, _The Dewdrop_ , which he affectionately called just 'The Drop', because it was a regular of his, as he had told Lisbon, but also because it was the least busy. Perhaps that is why he liked it. Whatever the reason he had chosen their dinner to be there, he felt the familiar pang of anxiousness that only she could produce from him. Clearly, she was here for his help, but a part of him didn't know what to make of that. He had fled from her as soon as he could, uprooting himself and moving as far as he could, but even that didn't seem like enough. He could imagine her pain; wondering why he decided to transfer and to cut ties with her. He had wanted to explain, to tell her when he had first decided, but it was best for her she didn't know. At least not then. Now that time had passed between them, maybe he owed it to her. Maybe…

His thoughts cut off when he heard the jingle of the bell above the door, alerting them that someone had entered. Lisbon was standing there, her eyes surveying the interior for him, holding her wet coat against her though her hair was damp from the rain. His heart skipped a beat when her emerald eyes found his and smiled. He smiled back involuntarily, watching her carefully as she made her way to the back of the diner where he sat.

"Interesting place," she commented with a smile as she slid into the bench across from him and began to pull off her coat. "Not surprising. Some things never change," she added, her eyes falling to the cup of tea in front of him and back up to meet his eyes. "Regular, huh?"

He responded with a quick nod of his head. "Every day. Same seat, same coffee, usually with eggs." He lifted a corner of his mouth in a half-smile. "They aren't quite as good as eggs I've been known to make, but they suffice."

She leaned her elbows onto the table and nodded her head at that. Now that he could see her properly in the fluorescent lights above them, he could see that little had changed about her; her freckles still managed to be the predominate feature about her besides her eyes. Besides the bangs that swept neatly across her forehead and her thinner frame that he noted before, she looked just as she did the day he left her.

"You seem to be doing well," said Lisbon. "You are back to doing television?" She sounded surprised at that, which he took as a reference to his past experience in doing that. "How's that going?"

He shrugged one shoulder and shook his head nonchalantly. "It's going okay. It's not exactly my ideal way to spend my time, but I do what I need to do. The FBI isn't exactly forgiving when you kill someone, Teresa." That came out more tersely than he wanted. He watched her face twitch, and he wished he could take it back.

"You are doing it for the FBI?" she asked in surprise.

He nodded his blond curls at her and decided now would be a great time to play with the saucer of his teacup. "They use it to train recruits how to read body language and overall read their behavior for interrogations." He sighed heavily. "They invite unwitting people into seeing me, and they study me; sometimes I even teach a lesson or two about it. It never actually goes on television. It goes to the FBI as a training aid. Not exactly the glamorous way I started television, is it?" He smiled halfheartedly. "Still a showman after all these years."

"Abbott is making you do this?"

"No. It was my idea. He went with it," admitted Jane. "A leopard cannot change his spots, Teresa."

"Oh." Her voice lowered considerably.

"What about you?" He stopped playing with the saucer and entwined the fingers of his hands, leaning forward and cocking his head. "What have you been up to for the past three years, Teresa? Anything interesting?"

Was he really going to sit here and pretend like this was a normal conversation with an ex-colleague of his? Was he really going to ignore the fact that he left three years ago and he's talking to her as if that never happened and they are still great buddies? He missed her. So much so that it was like a physical ache. But he didn't want to feel the hurt again when she left him alone yet again in a few days. After all, it seemed she was here on personal business and wasn't here to reconnect with him in a personal way. It always came down to needing his help. He had known that is the only way she'd probably track him down again, and he wasn't disappointed to be proven right.

"Still angry with me after all of these years, huh?" Lisbon asked, her tone clipped. "Okay, then." She looked away from him and out of the rain-soaked window, trying to focus on anything but him. "I still work for the FBI in Austin. I couldn't really bring myself to leave it. You decided you didn't want to work with me anymore. I had to accept that, Jane." Her eyes fell back to his, hard and hollow.

"It's who you are, after all," he finished. "Seems like I am not the only one upset about things," he added as a reflective thought.

He noticed that her gaze fell to his hand; particularly, the finger that held his wedding ring. He registered surprise on her face to learn that the ring was missing. Not wanting to be approached with a question about it, he hid that hand under the other on the table and cleared his throat.

"You obviously came here to ask me about something," said Jane, trying to change the subject from the unsaid questions she had. "Maybe we should just keep the conversation geared to that."

She nodded her head at him and turned to her jacket, reaching for the inside pocket and producing a blue file folder that was slightly damp and bent. She slid it across the table to him and tapped on it with her index finger.

"You said it was a personal favor. This is an FBI file."

"It's related, Jane. And, if you hear me out, it is associated with me." She sat back against the back of the booth and sighed. "I need your skillset, Jane. I don't know what else I can do."

"I haven't been involved in an FBI case in over five years, Lisbon," he told her in good conscience. "Two years on that island and three years here chasing ghosts. I don't even know how to help you."

Lisbon was silent for a moment. Then, "You won't even pretend to try?" She was clearly hurt by his brush off. "After three years, I come to you for help and you don't even want to attempt to try." She scoffed and shook her head. "I clearly wasted my time begging Abbott to tell me where you were. I clearly wasted my time thinking that we could, at least, pretend you didn't run away from me again, Jane." She reached over to pick up the folder, but his hand stopped her from doing so.

"You never bothered to try tracking me down, either, Teresa," he said softly without looking at her. "Three long years and you never even tried once."

She slid out from the bench and stood sharply, reaching for her jacket and tossing it on. "That wasn't _my_ choice. This was a mistake. I shouldn't have come."

Before Jane could answer her back and tell her to please sit back down so they could talk, the waitress came over with a smile and a shake of her hip, pulling out her order ticket book and pen from her apron. She took a look first at Lisbon's flushed face, then at Jane, and the awkwardness she felt registered on her face.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked, her eyes falling back to Lisbon. "We have a great dinner special tonight." She cracked the gum she was chewing on and smiled at Lisbon.

"I was just leaving," Lisbon assured her. "It was stupid to even bother! Nothing's changed in all this time!"

"Meh," he grumbled under his breath.

She turned on her heels and pressed her coat closer to her body as she did. It was a moment later that Jane heard the jingle of the bell above the door sound letting him know she was gone. He didn't bother to stop her. What would that have done? It wouldn't alter the fact they were both still very much in pain from what happened before he requested his transfer. He smiled at the confused waitress, beaming a smile he didn't really have in him at her.

"It's okay, Lauren," he told her. "It's fine."

Lauren smiled, cracked her gum once again, and left him be. He waited until she was out of sight before looking down at the table at the blue FBI file that Lisbon forgot to take with her in her hasty exit. He sighed and glided the folder closer to himself, moving his tea out of the way. He flipped open the file and began to read.

* * *

She was annoyed. It had been an hour since she left the diner in a huff, forgetting her FBI file in the process. She wished she had eaten something at the diner, though, because room service was taking its grand time with her fish and potatoes. She wasn't sure she was that hungry anymore, however. She was upset that she had allowed him to affect her like that. She had promised herself before her plane had even touched down that she'd ask him for the favor, and if he gave her any grief, she'd pack herself up and head back home. So she was wondering why, even as angry as he had made her, she wasn't packing up all her things right now and heading to the airport, effectively leaving Jane and this visit behind.

She did not lay blame solely on Jane, either, for his departure or for the lack of communication or ability to pick up the phone and call. She had done her fair share of avoidance, just as Jane had said. But just because she didn't blame him didn't mean she couldn't be angry at him for it. She needed his help, and all he wanted to do was throw the fact she hadn't tried to get in touch with him sooner back into her face. He could be so intolerable sometimes. That didn't change, not even with the passing of time. There was a sudden knock on the door of her room. She welcomed the intrusion; it helped her forget about Jane and this whole mess.

"Just a second," she called out, standing and digging in her pocket for tip money for the busboy. If anything, she could nibble the roll. It would be something for her to do to forget about this disaster of a trip. God, she felt pathetic. She really thought this was going to be a healing of sorts between them. A mending from the last time they saw one another and what ultimately became the last of their partnership.

Lisbon unhooked the chain lock and opened the door, crossing her arms immediately and leaning on the door jamb. She couldn't say she was particularly shocked to see Jane standing in front of her, the blue FBI file she stupidly left behind in his hand. She sighed and shook her head in both amusement and exasperation.

"I won't even bother asking how you got my hotel and room number," she told him.

He smiled at her, rocking back on his heels. "You wrote them on the back of the file." He held the folder up and pointed to the information she had hurriedly written down before leaving Austin. "No tricks, I promise."

She rolled her eyes and untucked an arm from her chest, reaching out her hand for the file. "Thanks for bringing it back, Jane," she told him tersely.

"Actually, Teresa," he said with a slow enunciation of her name, "I was hoping if you'd allow me a few minutes of your time. After that, you can go back to Texas, and we can go back to being estranged." There was a moment of silence between them. "Please?" he added, breaking the awkward silence finally.

She blew out a loud breath and moved out of his way, lowering her arm and allowing him entrance into her room. She shut the door behind him and turned back into her room, her eyes finding his in the small gap between their bodies. Jane held up the file in his hand again and shook his head at her.

"How long has this been going on, Lisbon?" For some reason, his use of her last name was much more personal to her ears than her formal first name he had been using. She felt a slight tingle go up her spine, and the look of concern on Jane's face wasn't helping, either. "Well? How long?"

"Six months," she admitted. "I thought you didn't want to help me." She watched his facial expression change from concern to wistfulness.

He lowered the folder to his side and shook his head. "I never said that, Teresa."

"You could have fooled me," she shot back.

"I said I don't know how to help you," he clarified. "And I didn't. I never said I wouldn't help. But after reading this," he lifted the folder up yet again, lowering it a second later, "I think I should make an exception on working cases for the FBI."

"Because it involves me," she guessed. She cleared her throat and crossed her arms across her chest. "I think I made a mistake in asking for your help. I can see that now."

He sighed and turned himself at his waist, reaching back to flop the folder on the bed behind him, then turning back to her. His face was a blank canvas; she couldn't tell what he was thinking or feeling, but she imagined his brain turning over, trying to decide what to say next. She, for her part, wasn't budging in her stance or her feelings she just articulated to him.

"Our past is infringing on our mood toward each other," explained Jane quietly. "I never intentionally tried hurting you when you came such a long way to see me. I feel like we should talk about what happened, Teresa. It might be easier for us to work together on this."

She scoffed. "It could never make things easier, Patrick. I just came here to ask for your help. Nobody else can help me, not even the FBI. When I begged Abbott to give me your location, I thought we could, at least, be civil about things. I was wrong, and I regret coming here." She shook her head and closed her eyes for a brief moment, reopening them and finding herself surprised that Jane had moved closer to her.

"I'm…I'm sorry, Teresa," he apologized. "I never meant to hurt you again. The old adage that time heals all wounds is a lie. I still hurt, and I know you still hurt, too. But this," he pointed behind him at the folder on the bed, "is about safety, Teresa. I want to help you. No," he slid his head side-to-side in a small shake, "I _need_ to help you."

She said nothing for a minute. She was stunned into silence by his words.

"I really am sorry about that night, you know," Jane told her softly when she remained silent. "I've been waiting a long time to finally say that to you. I know what I did was selfish and unforgivable."

She held up a hand for him to stop speaking, finally finding her own voice. "Save it, Jane. I don't want to hear it right now. I really…" She sighed heavily and walked past him, putting space between them once again. She turned back to him and frowned deeply. "Can we stick to the problem at hand, please?"

"Sure," he replied. "But we'll have to discuss it at some point. It's a contentious stone in the road between us. We both have things on our minds and I, for one, would love the opportunity to address them before we part again."

"You won't let it go, will you?"

"No." And he smiled the first genuine smile in years.

"Fine," she gave in. "So you are going to help me after all?"

"I am."

"What's first, then?"

"Explaining the folder, perhaps?" he suggested, the smile still on his face.

There was another knock on the door. Lisbon pointed to it and shot Jane a rare smile.

"Dinner," said Lisbon, nearly forgetting she even ordered room service. "Then, I will tell you how this whole thing in that folder started."

* * *

 **A/N: Wow! First of all, thank you all so much for the positive feedback on chapter one. I really, really, appreciate it. I hope this chapter is just as good and enjoyable. Next, we will see what's in the folder, and Jane has a hard time with a request of Lisbon's.**


	3. Capricious

**Chapter 3 – Capricious**

* * *

Jane suppressed a sigh, his fingers turning over each page in the folder as he finished them. He had read them in the diner, but going back over them more carefully did little to quell the concern he felt. He could feel Lisbon's green eyes watching him as she nibbled on a fry, her eyebrows arching up curiously as he thumbed through. He would have smiled at that, being that he missed her inquisitive nature, but what he was reading wouldn't allow his mouth to curve upward. In fact, a deep frown etched itself across his face.

"This is very disturbing, Lisbon," he said, pulling his eyes up to meet hers. "I don't like what I am reading." He let out the sigh he had been suppressing and lowered the folder to the desk on his right. "I assume the FBI is unable to help you?"

Lisbon finished the fry and reached for another. She shook her head vehemently. "No." Her simple response made him feel downhearted.

He turned once again to face her, finding a surprise when her face conveyed fear and unsureness. He hadn't forgotten the way her eyes bulged slightly when she was frightened or the way the side of her mouth drooped down in a slight frown. He hadn't forgotten how her features reacted to different emotions. Though they both were still very hurt and sensitive toward each other's actions years before, he had the sudden urge to comfort her. He promised himself, however, that he would not do anything that would cause more pain between them; comforting her most certainly would cause intense pain in the form of memories.

"You're scared," he told her matter-of-factly. "Wide eyes, slight involuntary lip twitch. That's unnerving…" he trailed off. "The only way the Teresa Lisbon I know would be scared is if something was happening that isn't in this folder." He reached over and closed it with two fingers, never losing eye contact with her. "You broke a three-year silence drought to ask me for help, Teresa. I think honesty is the best policy here. I want to help, but I sense more than what you are showing me."

Lisbon looked at him for a long beat, something Jane took to mean she was thinking of what to say to him next. She nodded toward the folder. "It's reports and case evidence on serial murders, Jane."

"I am aware," he told her. "But you wouldn't have come all the way here just for my help on that, Teresa. So," he stood up and walked over to the bed where she sat, coming to a stop in front of her. "Tell me."

She looked at him dead in the eyes, her face turning serious and stony. "It really has been a long time for you on cases, huh?"

"Teresa…" he said with growing impatience.

He was shocked by how quickly she faded from serious and stony to fearful and emotional. "I need your help, Jane," she told him through thickness forming in her throat, "You have to believe me." The desperation in her voice rang in his ears.

"I do," he told her irrevocably. "But in order to help you, I have to understand. I don't understand what some murders have to do with you."

She stared at him, trying to keep her emotions in check as he watched her debate whether or not to explain it to him. He didn't think she was intentionally keeping it from him; her demeanor suggested that she was trying to decide the appropriate time to do so. Given what occurred between them the last time they spoke, she was weighing her options very, very judiciously.

"I want you to come back to Austin with me," she finally vocalized. "If you promise me that you will, I will tell you everything you want to know, Jane. Otherwise, this is a waste of my time." She looked away from him now. "Your time, too."

He shook his head at her. "I don't think that is a good idea, Teresa. Me going back there is…is counterintuitive. I want to reconcile in a way with you. Is that really the best idea in order for me to do so?" He clicked his tongue. "Go back to where things fell apart?"

"I am not going to beg, Jane," she told him, still choosing a sun shadow to cling to. "I am only asking. Please. I need you to come back with me to Texas. If you want to help me, this is how to do it."

He sighed heavily, feeling as if saying yes to her request was not advisable, but knowing if he wanted to help her, and hopefully heal the broken relationship between them, going back to a place it all began was what he had to do. "All right," he told her. "I'll come back with you to Texas."

"Okay," responded Lisbon. "Thanks." She hesitated a moment, then, "The team will be very happy to see you again."

"I'm sure. Now," he went on, "tell me what the hell is going on, Teresa."

"Those murders?" she said. "They are— _were_ —being investigated by our team." She shook her head in disgust. "But the Director thought it would jeopardize the FBI's reputation to continue. He cited lack of evidence and resources. We think it's because whoever is responsible for them is always a step ahead, and he doesn't want his bureau made out to look like a bunch of idiots."

Jane's eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion. "You don't have the case anymore? So, why is it you need my help on a case you don't have to investigate, Lisbon?"

She lifted herself off the bed and passed him, reaching for the folder and opening it. "Six women, all dark-haired, thin, and all of them in their early to mid-forties." She pulled a report from the paper clip it was attached to the folder with and handed it over to Jane, who skimmed it. "All of these women shared those characteristics, but also shared a common set of professions to each other; probation officer, county clerk at the courthouse, attorney."

"He has a type," Jane responded in understanding. "I assume the killer is still unknown." He nodded toward the folder. "No mention of a suspect in there."

"No," she confirmed. "We have our suspicions, but nothing solid."

"Is that why you need me? To find this guy? Help get evidence to support your suspicions? Is this to help your career?" He held up a palm to quell any of her protests. "I don't mean that in a bad way, Teresa. I understand."

She wouldn't admit it aloud, but that inferring of her reasons for coming here—coming to him—stung deeply. "No," she replied, biting her bottom lip and closing the folder. "I mean… I need you, but it's not to bump my career in the FBI, Jane. It's something else."

She handed him the folder and turned herself to the desk behind Jane, pulling open one of the drawers and reaching in, extracting a similar secondary blue folder. She handed the second folder to him and sighed.

"What's this?" he asked, regarding her.

"How I factor into this." She sighed. "I was going to wait to show you this, but I can see that isn't an option. You won't wait until we get to Texas to know." She crossed her arms across her chest dejectedly.

He flipped it open and let out a small gasp at the photos and copies inside the folder. He flipped several pages before he slammed the folder closed and looked up at her, his face slightly ashen, and his eyes flecked with pain and remorse, which she took as guilt for allowing this to happen, even if he could not prevent it.

"You think it's you?" he asked.

She nodded her head gradually. "I think I'm next, Jane." She nodded in the direction of the folder. "He told me so."

* * *

He glanced over at her as she looked distractedly out of the plane window, watching her facial expression change in the reflection of the glass. Hours had passed, and with a phone call to Abbott, who in turn called in a few favors of his own, Jane was free of his contractual obligations until this priority matter could be handled. He studied her face carefully. He couldn't quite tell what was going through her mind—a fact he hated in equal measure with loving the challenge of figuring it out—but he suspected that it had to do with his coming back to Texas with her. Maybe it was also the fact that she thought a serial killer was targeting her. Though the basis for this had yet to be explained to him, he had no doubt she was frightened. After all, she never would have come for him if she wasn't looking for the last-ditch effort to put an end to the killings before she became just another notch on the sadist's belt. Not after what they both went through.

"We are going to catch him, Teresa," he told her, causing her to startle and turn her face to him. "I promise."

"I'd be surprised if you didn't," she admitted with a faint smile. "Our closed-case ratio has dwindled since you…" she trailed off, then heaved a sigh. "…left," she finished.

"It wasn't an easy decision, Teresa," he said, leaning on an elbow toward her. "I thought you didn't want to discuss it?"

"I don't. It was a fact I stated, Jane," she answered defensively. "Nothing more."

"Mm," he mumbled under his breath. "Why don't you want to discuss what happened between us? I would accept any of your excuses. I'm merely interested in which one you decide to pick." He smiled off her narrowing eyes.

"Because I don't have a lot to say about it," she replied in defiance. "Is this what you are going to do the entire time we are trying to track down a killer who wants me dead?"

"Of course not," said Jane softly. "But I don't want to tiptoe around unsaid things. I couldn't help but notice I apologized for my part in the whole matter, but as soon as it was your turn, you decided you didn't want to talk about it."

" _You_ left _me_ , Jane!" she sputtered. "You know what? Can we just stick to the case? I'd really appreciate that."

"Okay," he reluctantly agreed, not wanting to fight with her or upset her more than she already was. "Who is this guy you suspect? I assume that Abbott doesn't have the case anymore, so you are doing things under the radar."

She nodded her chestnut curls. "The Director said it was a waste of time and resources, remember? Anyway, when we first got the case, we interviewed a man by the name of Callen Langford, whose DNA was found on one of the victims' bodies."

"Wasn't that enough to charge him?"

"You've been away too long, Jane," she replied stiffly. "You need indisputable proof he actually did the killings."

"Let me guess," Jane replied, "he is a loner with a menial job, with some kind of borderline personality disorder?"

"Sociable, rich executive with no known mental illnesses."

"Wow. Remind me not to issue shots in the dark anymore," he teased. "I want to view his file. Obviously, I will want to interview him; read him to get a feel of him."

"We think he may have known all of the victims." She licked her lips. "He lawyered up almost immediately, so we couldn't really get much from him."

"Looking at the crime scene photos, I'd say he knew them somehow. Personally, I mean."

"Sleeping with them?"

"Hard to tell that without face-to-face contact with him, but the photos suggest that he felt guilt about what he did." He shook his head and leaned back into his seat. "I might be able to figure out more when I can see and speak with him directly." He sniffed. "And I want to know everything about those threats you received. All of them, Teresa. When, where, how you got them."

"Fine." She pressed her lips together, then, "Why do you think he's after me, Jane? He doesn't know me personally."

"I suspect you were an unexpected present for him. You happened to fit his type. Probably locked onto you as soon as you interviewed him, Teresa."

"Makes sense."

He was silent for a moment, then, "You don't have to be scared, Teresa. We'll find a way to put him behind bars. He won't touch you. I promise you that. If I believed in God, I'd say 'by God', but well, semantics." He lifted his mouth in a smile.

"It's not me I am worried about, Jane," she told him softly, turning back to gaze out of the plane window. "It's the women we haven't found or will never find, and the ones we found too late."

He didn't want to call her out on that lie. Instead, he turned his face forward and sighed, closing his eyes and feeling a mix between excitement and pain that he was heading back with Teresa to where he left everything and everyone he ever cared about with the intention of never returning. The truth was obvious; he left Texas a broken man, and he was returning much the same way. Even though Teresa would never admit it, he could sense she was feeling much the same way.

 _Some things you just can't fix_ , he thought, tracing the dark behind his eyelids. _Some things didn't want to be fixed_ … _It was the way of the world._ He could tell that's exactly how Teresa Lisbon saw it.

* * *

 **A/N: I am not too happy with this chapter. Let's call this a… transitional chapter. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks so much for your kind reviews. Also, this story so far kind of reminds me of The Dave Matthews Band's song** _ **"The Space Between"**_ **, lol.**


	4. Circumstantial

**Chapter Four – Circumstantial**

* * *

The Austin FBI field office changed drastically from the way he remembered it. The desks that once lined the bullpen were no longer there. In their place, there were removable cubicle-like walls between each, almost giving it an enclosed office feel. When he stepped out of the familiar elevator, he felt like he had walked onto a completely different floor. The only thing that even alerted him they were on the same floor he remembered from his brief time here was his old brown couch still perched against the wall, the long windows above bleaching the old leather in Austin heat. He smiled widely, glancing over at Lisbon, who was—very badly, he might add—pretending to ignore him. She'd kept the couch. He didn't have to ask if it was her doing; he just knew it was her.

"Don't get too excited," she said, "they spent too much time getting it for you, so there was no use in sending it back." She looked at him now but turned away when her eyes betrayed her.

"Of course," smiled Jane decisively. "Too much time." He could tell she was repressing the urge to tell him to go to hell, so he pointed to the bullpen in front of them, turning to her as she started to led them to the small cubicles. "What's with the maze?"

Though Lisbon rolled her eyes, she lifted a corner of her mouth in a quick smirk before her lips dropped again. "Director has been riding Abbott about our drop in closed cases," she explained. "Seems he thinks we are slacking because we are too busy talking to each other and shooting the crap."

"Ah," Jane replied, "I see."

He followed her past the other desks to her own, watching her walk around the separator. "I'll just be a sec," said Lisbon, reaching on her desk, "then we can go see Abbott and the rest. They're expecting us."

He didn't answer. Instead, he walked over to the old leather couch and reached his right fingertips down to feel the familiar texture beneath them, reveling in the warm skin of it. He missed it. He smiled as he turned himself and sat down, almost crying out in euphoria at the comfort and feel of the cushions. He could feel Lisbon's eyes on him from the corner of his eye, and he thought he could detect a hint of amusement on her features.

"It's like greeting an old friend, huh?" She smiled now. "Five years, and it's almost like you never left. Almost." She set her mouth in a frown and cleared her throat. "They're waiting. We need to go, Jane."

"You're wondering what I see in this old bit of furniture." He stood and started to walk with her back through the bullpen. "Why it makes me happy when I see it; it's amusing to you." He chuckled. "It's because I've had it just as long as I have— _had_ —you. It was the second physical comfort I got when I came to the CBI, Teresa." He didn't need to elaborate on the first comfort he encountered…or did he?

It was silent as they made their way past the elevator, heading down the small corridor to what he remembered to be Abbott's office. Nothing changed in this area, he saw, which was actually reassuring to him. At least not everything changed when he left. First the closed case numbers, then the bullpen, and, though it pained him to say so, Teresa. He was glad to see something remained unchanged.

"You know," she started as they neared Abbott's office, "I never did say thank you for agreeing to come back to Texas."

"I know it was hard for you to come find me, ask for my help," said Jane. "Especially since…" he trailed off.

"Listen, Jane," she stopped walking and turned toward him. "I am glad you agreed to help me out…help the team out," she corrected, "but I really don't want to revisit what happened between us. I just…don't. Five years haven't really obscured anything about that night."

He nodded brusquely. "You think it's my fault, Teresa. I can read it in your face, the way you talk to me," he observed, "but we only have ourselves to blame. I don't blame you for what you said, and I don't believe you should blame me for what I did though I don't fault you for doing so. You know I don't."

She sighed. "I don't blame you, Jane. What I said was unforgivable. No matter what you did, I had no right to say what I did to you. That's a regret of mine. A big one."

"Mm," he muttered.

"But I won't be discussing that right now, as we have to get this," she held up a folder in her hand, "taken care of." She started walking again. "Later, okay?" she promised.

"Later."

They got to Abbott's office door and knocked, though the enclosure was glass and they could see Wylie and Cho sitting across the desk, with Abbott sitting behind his desk. He looked up at the knock and waved them inside as Wylie and Cho stood to acknowledge them; a wide smile appeared on Wylie's face at the sight of Jane, but Cho remained motionless, just a curt nod at the ex-consultant.

"Jane!" Wylie called out, striding forward and wrapping his arms around him. "Oh, man! It's so good to see you! Five years!" He shook his head. "Wow."

"Wylie," he answered back, tapping the young agent on the back. "Nice to see you again, also."

Wylie let go of him and stepped back. Jane's eyes fell to Cho, whose arms were crossed across his chest, his features perpetually expressionless. Jane smiled at his old friend, wondering if he could attempt a hug and actually receive one in return. He was willing to bet no, so he just stood there, waiting for Cho to react in some way.

"Jane," Cho replied in his familiar monotone.

"Cho," replied Jane. "Nice to see you haven't changed."

He watched Cho's eyes fall from his head to his toe, taking him in. He imagined he looked different than he did when he first came back. If Cho had a comment about his current attire—which did not consist of his island shirt or his trademark brown shoes—he said nothing. Instead, he uttered a grunt and uncrossed his arms.

"Jane," he said with a nod of his head. Jane suspected that Lisbon confided in at least one person about what happened between them. Cho's brusque response wasn't only his personality shining through; it was an agitation. Almost a protective tone to his voice.

"It's nice to see you again, Jane," Abbott said, a small smile forming on his face as his eyes slid from Cho to Lisbon, and back to Jane. "Glad you decided to help us out."

"Sure," he answered. "Beats training ill-skilled and poorly trained FBI recruits who are tasked with protecting the general public." He felt Lisbon's intense and disapproving glare hot on his face. "It's nice to be back for the most part."

"Did you fill him in, Lisbon?" Abbott asked after Cho and Wylie sat back down and the reunion of sorts was over. "Give him everything we know so far?"

Lisbon held up the file in her hand. "This is Callen Langford's interviews and reports. I'll give Jane the audio and videotapes of his interrogation later. For now, I thought he could try to see what he can see in these." She held out the folder for Jane, who took it from her. "He knows about the victims. He's read the file."

"I want whatever he sent you, too, Teresa," Jane said without reluctance. " _Every single thing_."

"We can't prove he sent them to her, Jane," Cho told him. "We need to stick to nailing this guy for these murders. Once that's done, he won't be a danger if he _is_ the one sending them to her."

"We had an agreement!" Jane said, his voice intensifying slightly. "I agreed to help you with the case. Lisbon is part of the case if this guy is sending her threats. If he did indeed kill these women, he's not likely to stop just because she's an FBI agent."

"The threats are probably intimidation, Jane," Abbott piped in. "A tactic to throw suspicion maybe."

"She matches all the other women, Dennis," Jane argued, shaking his head vigorously. "Do you _really_ want to take the risk?"

"Jane—" Cho started.

"I'll fill him in later," Lisbon broke in, raising a hand to still Cho. "Let's just get him up to date, okay?" She sniffed and lowered her hand. "This is about these women first, Jane." She turned to him and nodded a chin at the folder in his hand. "Cho and Abbott are probably right."

He decided right then and there to drop the subject, for now, choosing to pursue the issue when he was alone with her. He knew they'd get nothing done if they just argued back and forth. He'd be sure to remind her that she promised to fill him in.

"Fine," he said, lifting the folder and opening it up. His eyes scanned the photo of Callen Langford; the features of the clearly prominent man telling Jane almost immediately that this man was narcissistic. "He's confident in this picture."

"That's not exactly suspicious, Jane," Abbott told him. "He's a liaison to the FBI and local law enforcement. He's meant to look that way."

"But he's over-confident. A common—yet often overlooked—trait of a murderer. They get cocky," replied Jane with a glance up at the team in front of him. "It's not a shock you haven't found evidence to link him. People with confidence hikes tend to have a period where they gloat at how good they are. It empowers them."

"You aren't making me feel better," Lisbon interjected.

"With narcissism, it's often not long before they have a letup in confidence. That is where they make their mistakes, usually. It's a pattern he's more than likely to follow."

"I'll need to see his body language, Teresa," he said, turning to her. "It'll give me a better idea than just bits of paper. Though reading through this, it sounds like he's squeaky clean besides the DNA on one of the bodies."

"Answer and alibi for everything," she replied with dismay. "Circumstantial suspicions."

"How does he account for the DNA?"

"You'll see in the tapes," Lisbon replied.

"Mm."

Abbott stood up from his desk, followed by Wylie and Cho. "We have some scouting to do for a case," he told Jane and Lisbon. "I trust you'll show him the interviews and fill him in on the details of our interrogation of Mr. Langford?" His gaze fell to Lisbon, who merely nodded her head. "Good."

"We'll catch up later!" Wylie exclaimed lifting up a thumb at Jane. "I'm so glad you're back!"

Jane snuck a glance at Lisbon and rolled it back slowly to Wylie. "Me, too," he responded. "It's nice to be back."

* * *

It was two hours later when the hot Austin sun settled, allowing a cooler breeze to fall in from the open window behind her desk. Lisbon pulled her suit jacket closer to her body with one hand, while she tilted the laptop toward Jane with the other, pushing in the DVD set in the slot and hitting the space bar to play it. They had watched a few interview snippets and an interrogation audio tape already.

"This was from our third interview with him," Lisbon explained, pointing to the screen with her pinky. "When the lab found his DNA on one of the bodies."

"Who is the man dressed to the nines?" Jane asked, pointing to a man sitting next to Callen in the room. "His lawyer?"

"Yeah," she confirmed. "The guy is a bulldog. Relentless. We explain that the bodies were found with similar circumstances as the one with his DNA."

"How were they killed? Same manner?"

Lisbon nodded. "Strangled to death. Their bodies were half-clothed and dumped in a culvert off the highway."

"The DNA is the only evidence you have against him," Jane stated. "He's getting brave here; not taking his lawyer's recommendation to shut up."

"He's deflecting a lot," she corrected. "Trying to turn the interview around by asking us questions."

Jane nodded and looked on at the screen. She watched him intently as he watched her and Cho grill Langford; she missed watching his face contort in concentration. She could see the irritation still on the surface of his features which she attributed to the lack of information on how threats were getting to her, but there was also familiarity in them. A clear love for what he was doing. So different from training recruits to read body language. He missed this; he missed chasing down scumbags.

"He slept with two of the women," he said matter-of-factually. "That's how he's explaining the DNA on the body of the first victim, Camille Ryan."

"Yeah," she confirmed. "No DNA on the second woman, though. Odd."

"Odd indeed," he replied, stopping the video with his thumb and looking at her. "It's interesting, isn't it?"

"Isn't what?"

"How we can go back to doing everything like we used to," he said. "How we can actually pretend things are fine between us. You ignoring my request to talk about it, undermining my desire to see evidence that could implicate your danger…" he trailed off and sat back on the seat he'd carried over from Cho's desk.

"Jane, we are watching the interviews you requested. Please." She nodded toward the laptop. "Have you made any observations so far?"

He looked at her a beat, then, "Yes."

"Care to share?"

"Tell you what," he said, standing abruptly and closing the laptop lid, "I'll tell you about my hunch, and you can tell me about the threats being made against you and on the way home. Maybe discuss why we took a five-year break from each other?"

"On the way home?"

He smiled. "Yes. I want to accompany you home, Teresa." He held up a hand to stop her budding protests. "Just to your door. See you home safely. My hotel is just a few blocks away; I can walk there."

She scoffed. "No."

He sighed and tilted his head. "That's my offer. I can always get a plane back to Oregon…"

He was going to get her to open up about things one way or another. She talked like she might open up, but he knew her better than she knew herself; she'd postpone and stall and try to wiggle out of anything that made her feel the feelings she felt when he left. The anger, resentment, and the hurt were something he knew she wanted to avoid. He knew that in order for her to share her feelings, he'd have to prod and manipulate. He didn't feel guilty for doing so.

She rolled her eyes and crossed her chest, rising from her seat and shaking her head. "Fine! Pain in the ass!"

He grinned now. "Great. Let's go."

She rolled her eyes again and let him through the maze of cubicle walls and to the elevator. She wouldn't admit it to him, but she missed this; her being impatient and irritated at him, and Jane smug and impassioned. She was just worried how digging up old bones might fracture their estrangement even further. They stepped inside when the doors opened.

"You want the ground floor," Jane said, pulling her from her thoughts.

She shook her head as she pulled back her finger from the elevator buttons. "No, I don't," answered Lisbon. "I've got something to show you, first."

"What is it?"

"One of my threats," she replied as the doors closed on them.

"Eager to share."

"Isn't that what you want?" she retorted.

"Yes," he agreed, "and since you are sharing something I want to know, I'll tell you something you want to know," he offered.

"What is it?"

"Callen Langford is a narcissistic jackass with an over-confident and otherwise ridiculous sense of grandiose."

"Tell me something I don't know!" grumbled Lisbon irritably.

"Callen Langford didn't kill your victims, Teresa," he said slowly. "He's innocent. I'm ninety-nine percent sure."

* * *

 **A/N: I am sorry for the delay. Please enjoy, and thank you for the feedback.**


	5. Misgivings

**Chapter 5- Misgivings**

* * *

She led him down a garish hallway—which she understood hadn't been decorated since the early sixties—and into the small evidence room that sat just a few doors from the end. She felt him close behind her as she stopped, taking her badge from her blazer and scanning it in the machine near the door and inputting her badge code. She wanted to turn around and tell him he was too close, even if just to spite his cocky, and completely unnecessary, hold-out of information that he thought Callen Langford while being a complete narcissist, was innocent of murder.

She allowed him to weave around her as she pulled open the door. She followed him in, dismayed that her questions the entire elevator ride down had been combated and intentionally unanswered. He finally promised that he'd tell her on the way home before he went to his hotel. _Don't you dare_ , she thought as the idea of asking him to stay at her place inexplicably crept up in the back of her mind. _You don't want to go down that road_ , _Teresa._

"Hey, Alex," she said, greeting the night watchman sitting behind the counter. "How's it going?"

The young, sandy-haired cop smiled widely at her and lifted himself from his uncomfortable-looking plastic chair and messy desk. "Teresa," he greeted back, reaching over without looking and pulling a clipboard from his desk. "Kinda late, eh?" He walked over and plopped the board down on the counter. His eyes slid to Jane, the irises of his deep chocolate eyes narrowing minutely before returning. "New guy?" He nodded his head sideways toward Jane.

"Jane," Jane broke in, intentionally making his voice loud and clear to capture the cop's attention. "Patrick Jane. You are?"

Lisbon looked up from filling out the board and looked between the cop and Jane, her eyes rolling almost involuntarily to the back of her head. She really, really did not need this right now. She sighed and threw the pen on the board, shoving it toward Alex.

"Jane," said Lisbon, pointing to Alex, "this is Alex Whiteman. He's the night watchman. Alex, this is Patrick Jane. I'm sure you've heard of him." She hoped the guilt of being the one who told him wasn't too strong in her tone.

She watched recognition hit Alex's face, and his features relaxed. "Right. Yes. The famous Jane. I didn't know you had come back to the FBI…"

She felt her face flush hot at Jane's glare but brushed it off with the clearing of her throat. "Yes, well, I wanted to show him box **73521TL**. It's a case we're working on."

"So…he's staying?"

"I am," Jane said. "For as long as the team will have me on the case."

 _Testosterone spill on aisle three_ , Lisbon thought in amusement. "The box, please, Alex."

With a parting glance at Jane, Alex nodded his head and turned to shuffle off and retrieve the box. Lisbon took this opportunity to turn around and look at Jane with the intention of telling him to behave, but she found he was distractedly looking around at the evidence room; clearly, it was a fascinating thing to him, because he seemed pretty focused all of a sudden.

"Here you go, Teresa," Alex said when he returned a few moments later, sliding the box across the counter. His eyes glanced over at Jane. "Mr. Jane," he added.

"Thanks, Alex," Lisbon said, picking up the box and leading Jane over to a small table near the side window just to the right. She sat the box down, placing her hand loosely on top and turning to him. "This contains most of what I was sent, give a piece or two."

"Mm," he replied, though it sounded halfhearted. "Okay."

"I thought you wanted to see this, Jane," she said exasperatedly, knocking her palm against the top of the box to show her agitation at him.

"I do," replied Jane swiftly. "That's not…never mind," he said. "Please. Show me, Teresa."

She nodded her head slightly, and pulled up on the box's lid, laying the loosened piece next to the box. She stood back a few paces and reached into the box, pulling out a few plastic Ziplocs. She held them almost delicately in her hands before finally holding one up by its corners. Her eyes drifted from the Ziploc's contents to Jane, who reached for it and took it from her.

"It's dolls," he said softly, rubbing his fingers over the plastic bag. "Doll bodies."

Lisbon nodded in agreement. "It is. Brunette-haired Barbie dolls. Each one of them dressed exactly like the victims were, and each have the same marks around the neck."

"He sent these to you?" Jane asked.

"He did. In the mail at my house, a few here at work." She watched Jane's eyes washing over the tiny parts, disgusted. "Turn the bag around to the backs of them, Jane," she commanded. "Look at the one on the left-hand side."

He turned the bag over and noticed it right away; on the leg of the Barbie body, there was a name etched into the hard plastic: LAURA. Jane turned his eyes up to Lisbon and shook his head slightly. "The third victim?"

"Mmhm," she muttered. "I'm on a leg, too," she added. "The right one at the top of the bag." She pointed to it. "That one came to my house. It was sitting on my front step when I went to get in my car."

"Sitting there? What does that mean, exactly?"

"It was posed, Jane," she explained. "The arms were crossed over her chest, marks painted on her neck just like we found the others…It was propped up on my stoop."

She watched him read the TERESA on the leg, his expression changing into something she had only seen a few times before, anger and revengeful. He turned the bag in his hand and pushed a hand over the plastic face of the doll meant for her. She watched his thumb graze the chocolate hair in even strokes.

"She has green eyes like you," he commented. "Did the clothing match anything you wore before?"

She sighed softly. "An outfit I wore a lot, Jane. Anyone would have seen me wearing it."

"No DNA off these?"

"No."

"Did you receive these before or after you found their bodies?"

Lisbon shrugged. "Before, I think. Does it matter?"

"These women are all dead." He looked at her now, putting the bag of bodies back in the box without looking. "They're all dead apart from you."

"Yes," she agreed. "Apart from me."

He sniffed the air between them. "That explains the fear in your eyes and expression when you came to see me. He's gotten close. Judging by his method," he nodded at the box, "I'd say he's extremely smart. Avoiding detection at your own home was stealth; it was shrewd and daring at the same time." He bit his lip in thought.

"I don't follow…"

"He knows you, Teresa," he supplied, reaching for the lid and placing it back on the box, effectively closing away the visual that someone wanted Lisbon dead. "He thinks you are the ultimate prize. Think about this: he had access to you when he put that on your porch. He could have taken you any time he liked, but he chose to send you a message."

She shook her head in confusion. "I'm not following you, here, Jane."

"He's playing a game with you."

"What's that?"

"'Catch me if you can'."

"You think there are clues in these?" She pointed to the closed box.

"Perhaps."

"How so?"

"Think about it this way, Teresa. He sent you four of these, each with a victim's name inscribed, dressed exactly the same as you found them. Ask yourself why he would do this. Why would he give you these before you even found their bodies?"

She was dumbfounded. "I am not you, Jane. I don't know!"

He clicked his tongue in impatience. "He was giving you a clue as to where to find them, Lisbon."

"Like a map?"

"Exactly. He was daring you to find them."

She had to admit that made sense. The bodies of the dolls had shown up just a few days before the bodies were found in the culvert along the long stretch of highway. There was never a connection to it, though. None that she had thought of, anyway. She was being sent a road map on where along that stretch to find the bodies. But how? And what did she have to do with this?

"But why send one of those of me? If he wants to play a game with me like you said, why was I decorated in the same way as the others?" she asked, voicing the latter of her inner thoughts.

Jane frowned deeply and shook his head. "He's warning you, Teresa. You weren't wrong in thinking this was a threat. If you can't find him in a time he finds suitable…" he trailed off and sighed. "You'll end up in the ditch, too."

* * *

He could tell she was lost in thought as she drove them through the quiet and deserted Austin streets, her lip trapped in its customary position; a nervous habit he had come to recognize since their CBI days. She was reserved in silence for the ten minutes they had been driving, despite his several passing attempts at communication. All he managed to garner from her was a nod or grunt. He'd freely admit his topic of discussion wasn't terribly fascinating, but he was quite sure he had scared her earlier in the evidence room even further than she had been already, and that was the reasoning behind her lack of enthusiasm.

"How long did you and Alex date?" he asked casually, wanting to use it to make her open up, but knowing his own curiosity could not be held down any longer. "I could sense it between you, Teresa," he explained off the abrupt turn of her head, making her lip fall from between her teeth. "Mentalist, remember?"

It was her turn to click her tongue, turning her head back to the road in front of her. "I don't recall that being any of your business, Jane," she replied harshly with a sniff.

"Mm. Well, no denial, so at least my skills haven't rusted exponentially." He smirked a little at that. His expression turned serious then. "No. I am genuinely happy you had someone, Teresa." His voice betrayed him, choosing to break and soar an octave higher on the word "happy".

"Yeah, well," Lisbon started, turning right and waiting for the clicking of her turn signal to stop, "it's over now. It's been over for a while." She looked over at him resentfully and met her green eyes to his bluish-green pools. "It's not relevant to anything. You are not here to pry in my life, Jane. You don't get that privilege." There was an edge to her tone; a warning not to push it.

He nodded dejectedly. "Yes. I know that." And he did. He knew he had no business asking her, but he couldn't help it. It was almost a constant pull to see how her life had gone the five years they were apart; how her love life had shaped up. He couldn't deny he was inherently happy that she was single. "It was just a curiosity. A way to inject some actual dialog into this otherwise repressed car ride."

She was soundless for a few moments, allowing the silence in the air to settle a little before she spoke again, this time softer and kinder. "Where is your ring?" She nodded her head sideways toward the naked finger she had taken notice of in Oregon. "I gave it to Abbott to have it sent to wherever you went. He promised me he'd make sure you got it."

He looked at her briefly before lifting his naked finger up automatically and setting his gaze on the untanned skin that once held his ring. He turned his hand over, palm up, rubbing his thumb over the finger where the ring should have been. He lifted his gaze back up slowly, hoping that he would not find her green eyes searching his, but knowing he would. He shrugged—a masking tool he learned to use well to his advantage—and smiled a sheepish smile.

"It's safe," he assured her. "Thank you for sending it to me." He looked away from her and occupied himself with the pattern of his trousers. "I knew you'd send it back."

He saw her nod from the corner of his eye. "I found it under my couch," she told him. She licked her lips and breathed out deeply. "It was…"

"From that night," he finished for her. "I guessed."

"So why aren't you wearing it? You never took it off, Jane. Not since that night. What happened to make you change your mind?" She turned the corner with her Sedan and pulled into her driveway.

He inhaled a sharp breath and released it in a huff, turning to her and mashing his lips tightly together. "Why do we have to call it 'that night'? Why can't we address what happened like two civilized people? I am readily able to admit to what I did, and I would like to hope that you would, too."

"I do want to talk about it, Jane," she assured him, shutting off her engine and letting her hands flex over the steering wheel. "And we will. I promise you."

"When, Teresa? Will you make up your mind when I am already on the plane back to Oregon? Is that when you'll want to talk about it?" He shrunk back slightly at her intense glare in the dark shadow of her car. "You threw my ring at me and left me there, Teresa."

"So it's my fault? These years apart is on just my shoulders?" she retorted, shaking her head. "Unbelievable!"

He leaned forward and cocked his head, his eyes reproachful. "I am just as much to blame about what happened. But I want to talk about it…to make some kind of amends between us. I don't want to go back to Oregon and have regrets that I never tried to explain myself or ask for your forgiveness!" His voice rose, but not angrily; instead, it echoed desperation for her to understand. An imploring for her to get what he was saying. "I've already forgiven you for those words and for throwing the ring at me, Lisbon. I've never been angry. I've been angry too long at things and I never want to do that again."

"What is it you want from me, Jane? An apology?"

"It's a start," he agreed, lowering his voice.

There was a beat of silence, then, "I can't right now, Jane. I'm sorry. I can't forgive as easily as you can. You know that."

He slumped back in the seat and sighed. "Okay."

He got out of the car, followed by Lisbon. He waited for her at the front of her car, walking in pace with her to her front porch. She turned to him, stuffing her hands in her pockets and looking sadly at him in the dimness. He could read on her face the disappointment that he could so easily talk about what transpired. There was more to the story, but he never brought it up for fear she'd recoil and keep herself at a distance. It didn't matter, though; she was still keeping her distance from him. It was something he couldn't fault her for.

"I don't want this to be weird between us, Jane," she whispered softly. "Five years is a long time to be apart. I don't want it to be a reflection of the past. I just want you to help us."

"I know," agreed Jane. "Just as long as you know that when this case is finished, I have to go back."

She nodded. "Yeah."

"I want to clear the air before I do, though," he admitted. "No regrets."

"No regrets," she repeated. "So…I guess I'll see you tomorrow? We can look over the victims' profiles, see if we missed anything? I can have the lab retest the dolls, see if there are any sediments from the culvert?"

"Yeah," he said sadly. "Tomorrow. Are you sure you're going to be all right, Teresa?" He looked torn between wanting to have some thinking space and making sure she was safe and sound all night.

Lisbon tapped her hip, indicating her weapon, and smiled. "I think I got it."

He smiled back at her. "Okay," he said. "And, Teresa?"

"Yeah?"

"For what it's worth, I am really happy you found someone to love, even if just briefly." He nodded his head. "I know that must have been hard for you. Good night, Teresa."

She smiled wistfully at him and turned to walk up the stoop. He turned to walk back toward the street, stopping only long enough to look back behind him and hear the snap of the door closing tightly behind her. He put his hands in his pockets and turned around again, walking alone back toward his hotel.

* * *

 **A/N: I hope you enjoy this. I want to personally thank all of you for the kind words on this story. Especially trustfalls for her always kind and amazing reviews. It means a lot. There was to be a small M scene in this chapter, but I cut it. I will add it as an OUTTAKE when the story is complete. If you think you know what happened between Lisbon/Jane that night, I can almost assure you that you don't ;) Hehe. Thanks! Next chapter we dive into the victims and a suspect turns up, and Lisbon finally talks a little about what occurred five long years ago.**


	6. Invoking The Provoked

**Chapter 6 – Invoking The Provoked**

* * *

She wasn't particularly surprised to see him sitting on her front stoop when she opened the door to go to work. In fact, she was rather shocked that he hadn't slept out there all night in the driveway. She smirked at that very thought as she closed her front door and locked it behind her, fumbling for her car key in the mixed jumble of keys on her ring. She was intentionally trying to avoid his eye gaze because she could feel the protectiveness emanating from him. Five years didn't change that part, at least.

"I assume by your demeanor that you're not particularly startled by my presence on your doorstep, Teresa," he commented with a smile of his own across his face, reaching to hand her a container of hot coffee he had purchased on his way there. "Deep roasted. Lots of cream and sugar. Just like you like."

She looked at him now, reaching out for the still-warm coffee, which told her he hadn't been waiting long. "You remembered my coffee preference?" She didn't know why that small bit of information startled her, but it did.

He pointed to his temple just below his golden curls set perfectly atop his head and twisted his finger. "Memory palace, remember? Besides," he told her as they made their way down the driveway, "I don't think I've forgotten a thing about you, Teresa. That would be impossible given our…" he trailed off and shrugged one shoulder, "…partnership for so long."

She decided not to answer. Instead, she held up the container of coffee and took a sip. "Thanks," she said, holding the coffee up between them. "So," she sighed, "I am guessing you need a ride to the office?"

"Mm," he agreed. "Like all times, isn't it? You driving, me in the passenger seat pondering life's beauty and tragedy." He turned to her and looked thoughtful for a moment. "You _do_ remember those times?"

She stopped and turned to him, her face a mix of confusion at his sudden question and irritation at his insinuation she had blocked those memories from her mind. It was his tone that gave it away; that higher tone and the inflection on the word 'do'. She locked her jaw and shook her head, continuing her walk to her car. She felt him follow her, but he said nothing further. She took his silence to mean he felt guilty for saying it like that. She had no doubt he didn't mean it quite the way it came out, but, well, bees sting with reckless abandon when they feel threatened…

Neither of them spoke until they were halfway to the FBI. Most of that ride was spent with Jane looking absentmindedly out his window, and Lisbon finishing off her coffee and deciding if she was being too harsh on Jane or not. After all, he was trying to make amends for…what happened between them (she decided to stop calling it 'that night') a long time ago. The problem was she was scared to let him make amends; to allow herself the risk of opening up again and having her heart crushed to ash once he left for Oregon. If she didn't speak much about it or let Jane speak deeply about it, it would almost be an "out of sight, out of mind" type situation for her; one common axis that would not shift back to the dark times they once had. It was predictable thoughts. Thoughts she'd do anything to bury for as long as possible.

"So, what's the agenda?" he asked, breaking her out of her predictable thoughts and slamming her back to reality beside him. "We go over the victims' profiles and ME reports. Then what?"

"Well, we see what we can find. Maybe you can see something in them we didn't," she explained. "The Director is at a conference in Houston, so we should be all right to work on it in the bullpen. I also want to send the dolls down to the lab again and have them look harder for anything they overlooked. They're not infallible. They can make mistakes, too."

"Infallible," he annotated with a small nod of his head. "I would like to interview Mr. Langford."

"Why?"

"Because, even though I believe him to be innocent of the murders, it is entirely possible he has information he wasn't willing to share with you," he held up a finger, "or _did_ share, but you do not have my skills to determine that just by minuscule changes in his feedback."

"You never did explain to me what made you think he was innocent," she told him, turning onto the main road leading to the FBI. "You said you were going to tell me on the way home, but we got into another subject."

He nodded his head in understanding. "Yes. And I plan to return to that subject, but to your request, Callen Langford's hands."

Her mouth fell open, her lips rounding to a very pleasing "O" that made Jane chuckle gently. "His hands?"

"Yes," Jane confirmed. "His hands and wrists were clearly tinged with carpal tunnel. My guess is from his repetitive typing on computers in relation to his job." He sniffed and yawned slightly. "You can see his wrists resting on the table with his fingers curled under his palm. That helps the pain. He could never have produced the amount of force it takes to strangle a woman. Certainly not with his bare hands such as suggested in the ME report you guys covet so much."

"Carpal tunnel? You noticed this just from his interrogation videos?" She clicked her tongue in agitation. "Are you serious?"

"As serious as a heart attack," he proclaimed. "He rubbed them a few times when you were talking to him, but…semantics. Go ahead, Teresa. Pull up his medical records. I bet you find everything there." He paused a moment, then, "Don't you guys look that stuff up when you interview suspects?"

"Only if we have enough proof to subpoena the medical records, which we didn't. His DNA was proof until he admitted sleeping with them. Then proof went bye-bye," she replied gregariously. "No judge would sign that warrant. But he conveniently never told us, either."

"You had him sitting in an interrogation room grilling him like a serial killer," Jane reasoned. "It slipped his mind, no doubt."

"Well," she said, biting her lip playfully as she swung the sedan into the FBI parking lot, "semantics."

He flipped her a rueful smile. "I'm rubbing off already."

* * *

"Let me get this straight," Abbott said, pulling off his glasses and cocking his head at the two of them. "You want to go to Callen Langford's workplace just to interrogate him, even though you said you believe he is innocent?"

Jane nodded his head and stole a peek at Lisbon, who said nothing, choosing a particular pattern on Abbott's tie to look at. "Yes, exactly."

Abbott was silent a moment and then shrugged a shoulder. "Okay. If you think that will help. We've got nothing else to go on." He slipped his glasses back on his face and turned to Cho. "Those creepy ass dolls are down being analyzed, and I have Wylie working on working the lab to get them done fast. Why don't you and Jane go over to Langford's workplace and ruffle up some dust."

"Can't he go with Lisbon?" Cho asked, crossing his arms across his chest.

"No."

"Okay," Cho responded, turning himself and walking away toward the elevators.

"Is there a problem?" Abbott asked, his voice hard. He looked from Jane to Lisbon.

"None that I am aware of," Jane said, his eyes glancing at Lisbon from his peripheral vision. "I'll just go, then." He turned to Lisbon fully and smiled a small, knowing smile. "See you soon, Teresa."

He could feel the guilt falling off her body as he passed her on his way to the elevator. He knew she knew of Cho's knowledge of what happened between them. He did not blame her for her openness to Cho; if he had anyone he trusted to confide in after he left Texas, he'd have done it, too. As it where he didn't. Cho's icy attitude toward him was just a reflection of that discussion between him and Lisbon, someone he knew Cho respected and felt protective over, even if his facial expressions and body language did not outwardly say so. He hopped in the elevator with Cho and pressed the button to the ground floor.

"So…" started Jane, tilting his body from the balls of his feet, "this is like old times. I have to say, you are especially icy with me this time. I don't blame you for whatever reason that is, but I am still glad to be here working with you again. I missed ya, Ice Man!"

"Whatever happened is not my business, Jane," he told him outright. "I just want to get this done and over with."

They watched the doors close in silence, feeling the floors go past them until the elevator finally came to a full stop on the ground floor and they spilled out of it. He didn't want to piss Cho off any more than he already seemed, but he wanted to call him out on his less-than-enthusiastic reunion. He waited until they were clear of the building and heading toward the black SUV parked in the underground lot off to the right.

"You're upset about what Lisbon told you." He nodded. "I don't blame you. I would be angry, too, if it were someone else in my position. I know you don't want to talk about it, but I thought you should know that part of my agreement for coming back here was to make up for that." He watched as Cho stopped in front of the driver's side door and turned to him tersely.

"Whatever, Jane," he told him in reply. "I will only say one thing to you about this whole situation—and I have to tell you I am way out of my comfort zone, here—if you ever hurt her again like that, I will find you wherever the FBI has you holed up and I will hurt you just as bad."

Jane took an obligatory step back and licked his lips. "Duly noted. The threat of physical violence says you care." He held up a hand when Cho took a step forward, retreating himself around the back of the SUV and slipping into the passenger side without another word.

* * *

It was a short ride to Austin City Public Relations inside the courthouse in the downtown district. The elongated lobby led off into a small tiled office, where Cho and Jane now stood, waiting for the secretary to get Langford out of a meeting. They must have waited there for five minutes—both silent and reflecting—when Langford and his blonde-haired, blue-eyed secretary came out of the double glass doors off to the side.

"And to what do I owe this visit?" Langford asked, his hands going into his pockets as he stopped in front of them. "More threats and invalid assumptions?"

"I wasn't here for the threats and invalid assumptions," Jane said in amusement, turning to Cho. "Must have been a sight to see." He turned his gaze back to Langford. "I don't make invalid threats and assumptions, Mr. Langford. I have no interest in being wrong about any of my assumptions, thanks."

Jane took the moment of tension between them to scope him out. Physically, he was a big guy. Not in weight, but in height. He was quite tall, with jet-black hair and green eyes, and the arrogance he emanated was apparent in his features, wrinkles appearing at his mouth. This was a clear indication that he smiled a lot. If he hadn't paid close enough attention to his hands in the tapes, and if he wasn't a master at noticing those tiny things, he might have thought Callen Langford guilty. Even now, though, in a face-to-face meeting, he was sure that Langford was innocent.

"Diane," Langford called to the secretary, "take an early lunch, would you?"

They waited for her to leave before they spoke again. This time, Langford offered them the room they had just had a meeting in, which Cho and Jane agreed. Langford sat down across from them, his beady green eyes focusing on Jane with a particularly smug smile spreading across his face.

"I've answered everything you wanted to know," he told them, leaning forward on his elbows across the table. "I freely admitted my involvement with the two women, Camille Ryan, and Felicia Long. That is the only reason my DNA was in their bodies."

"Yeah, save your receipts for those excuses, Langford," Jane told him harshly, irritated by his cold tone toward two deceased women he knew. "I know you didn't do it. How long have you had carpal tunnel? Why didn't you tell the FBI of this fact?" He chuckled at the look of surprise that was currently flashing across Callen's face. "Yes. Of course."

"Jane," Cho cut in, "a little help here."

"He hasn't told his employer."

"He's scared he'd lose his job over the injury, so he didn't tell anyone," Cho finished. "You were willing to risk going to jail for a string of murders over saving your job? You need to sort out your priorities," said Cho with a shake of his head. "We are here because this," he pointed to Jane, "is our human lie detector test. We still have questions."

" _ **BEEP! BEEP! BEEP**_!" Jane squawked loudly, scaring Langford, "I'm ready to sniff out a liar."

* * *

Lisbon decided that her third cup of coffee was probably not enough to satisfy her, so she headed through the maze of cubicles and into the small kitchen area, choosing her favorite cup—which happened to be the matching cup to the one she had once given Jane—and poured herself some awful, semi-cold coffee, sipping it gratefully as she waited for Jane and Cho's return and the report from the lab.

While she was standing there idly sipping the admittedly shitty coffee, she started to think about things she thought she'd buried. She wasn't sure if it was actually the coffee's horrid taste on her tongue making her flash-think, or maybe it was her subconscious telling her to pull her crap together and face the music…band…whatever was blocking her from feeling anything and properly dealing with things with Jane.

" _ **I'M NOT HER! You can get out of my house! Just LEAVE!" Her picking up the ring and flinging it back at him so that it hit him squarely in the chest. His face. Tears. The door slamming behind him. Her whisper through the tears streaming down her face. "Don't come back, Patrick Jane. Don't you ever come back!" Her desperate attempts to get a grip. Her tumbling after him in the night, but unable to find him.**_

"Lisbon?" she heard her name called softly, bringing her out of her depressing thoughts. It was Wylie, who was standing in the doorway of the small kitchenette. "The reports are completed." She saw his face turn to concern. "You okay? You look a little…disturbed."

"I'm fine," she lied. "That was fast," she said, clearing her throat and trying to look as if she hadn't been just standing there digging up bones better left buried. "Anything?"

"Sorry," he told her, "nothing."

She sighed and turned to set her coffee on the counter. "Thanks, Wylie. I guess Jane was wrong about them. We should have found something to link them as a roadmap or whatever Jane is calling it." She was disappointed but undeterred. "There has to be something, Jason."

Wylie nodded. "We'll figure it out, Lisbon," he assured her. "We have the smartest man here to help! He'll figure this all out."

"Of course," she said with a smile. "I guess we better get back to the grinding mill and reread the victims' reports. See if we missed anything in those until they get back from Langford's."

She sat back down at her desk a few moments later, pushing Felicia Long's file toward her and opening it. Scanning the reports made during the initial investigation, she reread the evidence log for Felicia Long, including her clothing, which had been cut from the body and tested for DNA and blood from either her or her attacker. In the log, it listed her clothing, jewelry, and contents of her pockets, which held nothing. Apart from the itemized list of belongings, there was nothing else of significance besides a copy of the ME report. That report held nothing, either.

She finally opened the last report, which was the second victim, Naomi Preston. She hoped something maybe they overlooked in the reports would pop out at her and give her something—anything—to go off of. To her utter disappointment, she saw nothing. What was she missing? What exactly did a "roadmap" mean? What the hell were the dolls trying to tell her, exactly? They had nothing on them, and the killer sending them to her so she could find the bodies didn't answer a lot of her questions, either. She was about to close the file and go get some more crappy coffee when Wylie came into her cubicle.

"Lisbon?" he asked almost timidly, wringing his hands oddly in front of him.

"Yes, Jason?" She closed the folder in frustration and looked up at him. "What's wrong?" she asked off his worrisome face.

"There is another."

"Another what?"

"Another body."

* * *

Jane leaned his body across the table and grabbed the pitcher of water between them, pouring himself half a glass and setting himself back into his seat. He took a long sip, watching Langford fidget in the clear bottom of the glass. Langford melted back into his cocky self, but so far, his story was the same as before-exceptionally detailed, offers to produce witnesses or points to consider of his innocence. These were things Jane already figured out just by looking at him.

They had been sitting there for the better part of twenty minutes, Jane conducting his questioning of Callen's statements and answers from his previous interrogations. The more he asked him things, the more Jane wanted to nail this egotistical asshole to the wall. He restrained himself on that front, but that didn't mean he couldn't give him a verbal whiplashing for his deviant and disgusting portrayal of women.

"So you went back to Camille Ryan's apartment for a late night roll in the sack," Jane repeated coldly, "and you assure us she was alive when you zippered up your pants and fled. Was she acting funny or different that night?"

"I already told you people! She was fine when I left," Langford replied. "I didn't really notice anything out of the ordinary, but you know…I wasn't exactly paying attention to her feelings." Langford sat back against his chair and sighed. "That doesn't make me a killer."

"No, but it makes you a douchebag," Cho cut in bitterly. "What about Naomi Preston? You told us before that you were exclusively seeing both of them. Did they know?"

Callen scoffed. "Of course they didn't. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Anything is possible in the world of sex and murder, Mr. Langford," Jane shot back. "Did you know of anyone else that may have wanted either woman dead? Any lovers that maybe had a bone to pick with you?" Jane narrowed his eyes at Langford, his gaze dropping to the man's hands, which he characteristically curved on the table.

"Oh," Jane replied, glancing at Cho with a tight-lipped smile. "Now it gets interesting. Something you've been holding back on to Agent Cho and his team, Callen?" Jane cocked his head. "Someone found out about you and Camille? Confront you about it, maybe? Confronted her?"

"No," he insisted. "I never heard from anyone she knew about it!"

"But she did say something to you, didn't she, Callen?"

"She mentioned that she felt like she was being followed. Like she couldn't shake the fact she felt like someone was watching her." He shook his head. "I told her she was just crazy. Feeling guilty about whoever boyfriend-of-the-month was and what she was doing while he was gone."

"Got a name for us?" Cho asked, reaching into his inner suit jacket pocket and retrieving his black notebook and pen. "I'm listening."

"I don't know his name," Callen said, looking at Jane. "Well? Am I lying or what?"

"Yes," Jane replied. "You are a liar." He watched Langford's face contort, causing him to chuckle. "Just messing with you. No, Cho. He's telling the truth. He has no idea who her other lover was. Interesting, though."

"How is that interesting?" Cho asked, the familiar air of irritation lacing his words.

"Surely her death has been in the news and papers by now. Why hasn't he done as most would, and come forward?" He looked at Cho. "And why haven't you guys found him by now through telephone records, et cetera?"

"She had no landline phone, and there was no cellphone on her body or in her apartment," Cho explained. "She didn't have anything that told us she was seeing someone else. Neighbors said she was a private person and nobody came. They didn't even see him," he flicked a chin at Callen, "coming and going."

"She definitely had a cell phone," Langford said. "She was the county clerk. She had to stay in touch."

Jane was about to respond when Cho's own cell phone—as if overhearing the conversation about the electronic—went off. He watched Cho lay the notebook and pen on the table and fish his ringing phone from his inner pocket. Jane took the few seconds it took for Cho to press ANSWER to evaluate Langford.

The guy was cocky and a serial-dater, but he was pretty certain—besides the wrists—that he was too moronic to kill four women, plus be sneaky enough to mail or leave dolls with the victims' likenesses for the FBI, particularly Lisbon, to find. Langford had access to Ryan's clothing and closet, as well as probably Preston's, which could account for how the matching outfits were used, but it seemed rather unlikely. But it did give Jane a clue: whoever killed these women either worked in the same kind of profession, therefore seeing them every day to match outfits to the dolls, or they were in their apartments at one time. Jane was willing to bet the latter of those things. He could hear Cho talking, but it was just a mere whisper beside him as he concentrated.

"Cho," he said, not loosening his intense gaze of Langford, "I want to visit some of the crime scenes of the other women. I want to check their closets."

"They've been cleared out. The family took the belongings," Cho told him. "The outfits were missing. Whoever killed them dressed them, too."

"A morbid detail, indeed. That's fine," he said. "Never hurts to look around." He was internally patting his own back for figuring out the killer took a peek at the clothing from the victims' homes.

"Well, that will have to wait," Cho said, hanging up the phone. "Another body came in. This one is fresh for you to look at."

"Splendid," he said, standing and tearing his gaze away from Langford. "That sounded worse than I meant it," he clarified. "Splendid I can look her over, not that she's dead."

He passed Cho and exited out of the room before popping his head back in. "You are a complete… _douchebag_ ," he said, choosing Cho's earlier remark, "but you aren't a killer. Good for you. Goodbye, Mr. Langford." And he dipped his head back out and was gone.

* * *

 **A/N #1 – I hope the "case" aspect that made up this chapter wasn't too bad. We will be getting to Jane and Lisbon big time next chapter, but we had to plant some things for later down the road in the story. We will be flashing back and forth from past to present soon. Also, I do admire Jane's humor here. He can be a cold bastard when he wants.**

 **A/N #2 – The cup Lisbon is drinking from is a match to the cup she let Jane take from her house in "Little Red Book" and not his turquoise cup. I thought it would be special if she had a special cup too, that reminded her of Jane.**

 **A/N #3 – Your comments and reviews keep me motivated. Thanks so much for them. Heavier times are coming. I hope you will enjoy the emotional ride.**


	7. Nitty Gritty

**Chapter 7 – Nitty Gritty**

* * *

Lisbon walked down the dirty bank that held the water in the culvert, her thick black boots squishing in the muddy sediments. She kept her head down as she neared the group of local police and the medical examiner waiting just a little way down. She tried to gulp down the increasingly thick lump in her throat, but for the life of her, she could not get it to go down. She wasn't particularly keen on seeing another body; not again. She was actually wondering if the morbid curiosity as to why she didn't receive another doll before the body was found was appropriate or not. Certainly, there was some kind of ethic code she was breaking—if not with some kind of FBI code, then her own moral one.

She lifted her head now, her eyes zeroing in on the body lying sprawled on the dirty ground as if she were sleeping peacefully. Lisbon knew it wasn't that peaceful, though. There was a time when she thought seeing dead bodies all day would break her; cause her to come to despise her job, but this was not the case, surprisingly. If anything, it re-enforced her notion that what she was doing was the right thing. Even after Jane left her, she couldn't imagine stopping her work—if she had, it might have just broke her beyond any form of repair. But, now, she was in the middle of a serial killer's sick and twisted plan. Somehow, she had become part of it.

"Did anyone touch the body?" she asked as she arrived on the scene, immediately bending down beside the body, careful not to get her knee close to the filthy ground. "Nobody touches the body unless I say so. Got it?" She looked up and scanned the faces in blue uniforms, and the white of the ME's scrubs. "This is FBI jurisdiction, boys. She's all mine."

"She's all yours, G-lady," one of the cops said, tipping his hat at her. "We checked for ID on her. None."

"Who called it in?" she asked, cocking her head as she cast an eye over the woman's features.

The woman, now that she was closer to her, had striking resemblances to Lisbon. It was almost overt; green-eyed, brunette, small and slender. Nearly the same bone structure in the cheeks. Lisbon gasped a little, only catching herself when one of the officers shifted their feet out of her peripheral vision. The woman was dressed almost like the rest of them: work attire. Her hair was perfectly settled around her shoulders, brushed off in a sweep on the forehead. The marks on her neck indicated her manner of death, the darkish purple bruising etching itself around the back of her neck. Strangled. Like the others.

"It was called in anonymous," said the same officer that called her "G-lady" earlier. "About twenty minutes ago. Someone probably got scared or something."

Lisbon outwardly nodded in agreement, but inwardly shook her head. No. She was pretty sure this wasn't someone scared to report a body. Why would they be afraid? She was no Patrick Jane, but she could figure out that much herself. I didn't take an Einstein to figure out that whoever called in anonymous most likely did so for a reason. And not a good reason.

"Lisbon!" she heard from behind her.

 _Ah, speak of the devil, himself_ , she thought with a small smile, standing and turning toward him. _Oh, God. He looks like he was being a smartass. Why can't he behave himself?_ she thought in rapid succession. _What do I care?_ she thought right after. _Oh, right. He might get the attention of the director…_

She waited until he was nearer, watching the smile unfurl across his face as his eyes found hers and he gave her a mischievous smile—the same smile she came to adore in the years she worked alongside him. Despite the circumstances, she smiled back and darted her eyes to Cho, who only looked straight ahead, avoiding both of them for the moment and focusing his gaze behind Lisbon to the body on the ground.

"Jane," she greeted as he came to a stop before her. "I hope you behaved yourself," she dropped the smile, "because if you piss off the wrong person, and they call the director, this is done." She looked at Cho, then. "Did he behave himself?"

"You know," Jane said with humor, "your mistrust in me is hurtful, Teresa. I was very good. Best behavior." He smiled widely at her before looking at Cho. "Right, Ice Man?"

Cho slid his gaze to Lisbon and shrugged. "Behavior was debatable, but the guy is a scumbag. We got some interesting things out of him."

"What did you get from Langford?"

"He's innocent, as I said," Jane assured her. "I want to go to some of the victims' homes and take a look around."

"That requires a search warrant."

"Meh," he said with a dismissive hand, "you and your rule sticking."

Lisbon turned to Jane to tell him he needed to watch himself and his conduct, but he was missing. She twirled around to see Jane—his knees completely in the mud—kneeling beside the body, his face exceedingly close to the features of a once beautiful and alive woman.

"She's still warm," he told her, reaching out to touch the decedent's face as Lisbon came to the other side of the body, squatting. He looked up at her and she knew immediately that he, too, had made the connection to the uncanny resemblance to her. "She couldn't have been dead more than an hour or so."

"There was no ID on the body. Right now, we don't know who she is." Lisbon watched him as he meticulously eyed the woman from head-to-toe, taking in anything that wasn't outwardly obvious to the law enforcement around them. "Oh, God. Don't sniff her, Jane," Lisbon said suddenly, watching him take a deep inhale.

"You sniff a few bodies in your life and this is what you get," he replied, though he did not smile in respect for the deceased. "No, I wasn't sniffing her, Lisbon, though I do smell a hint of perfume on her. _Dior_ , if I know my _eau de toilette_." He leaned back straight and put his hands just above his dirty knees. "I took a breath because she looks like she could pass for your sister."

"It's his type, Jane," she assured him. "That's all."

"Yes. That is precisely why this doesn't make me feel good," he responded, scooting himself down past the body's knees, looking over her clothing. "It's clearly a message, Teresa. Think about it," he said off her immediate protests. "She's perfectly positioned in the mud; not a hair," he pointed to the immaculate hair around the shoulders of the body, "or piece of clothing," he touched the suit pants resting on the warm flesh, "out of place. The other victims were dumped in the culvert."

"Jane, that's a stretch, even for you," replied Lisbon. In the back of her mind, she cowered at the thought. "Maybe he is changing his motif."

"No," Jane said with a vehement shake of his head, "this is clearly him asking you a question using one of his victims. The neat display of the body, the likeness to you, the clothing that could almost match what you are wearing right now…" he trailed off. "He's daring you to find him, Teresa."

"You can't know that," Lisbon reasoned. "This whole roadmap and dolls idea of yours isn't making sense, Jane. Nothing about this is making sense."

"The dolls are presents to you," Jane told her, looking up at her and locking his eyes on hers. "These women were probably still alive when he sent them. He wanted to give you clues. This is a game, and you have some of the clues already, but he's getting upset that you haven't figured them out yet. He's sending you bigger messages. He is offering you something by dumping these women. Possibly killing them to keep the game going. His sick, twisted, perverse way of being close to you, Teresa. Unpredictable. I'd say he knows you in some capacity."

"The dolls are clues?" Cho asked from behind them.

"In a sense," Jane said, concentrating on the slacks under his fingertips. "But the dressing of the bodies in their own clothing and the brutal nature of their deaths are also clues."

"Clues to what?"

"I don't know yet," he admitted. "Probably to his identity. He gets off on it. But what happens when the game gets dull and boring?" He looked up at Lisbon now. "He starts a new one like a child with a new toy. I suspect she's going to work in a job like the others. Something professional that required her to keep up her appearance. Something high paying, as _Dior_ is fairly expensive in department stores. Expensive clothing, too." He cocked his head and blinked slowly. "I would wager to bet she worked in a law firm."

Lisbon furrowed her brows. "Why do you think that?"

Jane looked away from her and slid a hand into her pants pocket, pulling out a small white card. He read it and lifted it for Lisbon to take a look at. "Because this business card says so."

Lisbon took the card and read it, her green eyes widening in surprise. "I know this firm," she said.

"Hmm?"

"It's Callen Langford's attorney."

"Mr. Nines?" Jane asked.

"That's him. What's his card doing in her pocket?" Lisbon shook her head. "This just keeps getting stranger and stranger."

"Lisbon, there is something written on the other side of the card," said Jane, squinting and pointing to it. "Flip it over."

Lisbon flipped it over and looked at Jane peculiarly over it. It was scrawled in black ink across the blank side of the card. "It says **49223**."

"Think it's something she wrote on the back?" Cho asked.

Jane shrugged. "Possibly," he said. He seemed deep in thought. "Maybe it's not related to her. I mean, why would she need a card of an attorney she works for?"

Lisbon couldn't help but notice, as he got to his feet and attempted to wipe the crusty dirt from his pants, his troubled glance at her. She could tell he was trying to hide it, but there were things even years apart couldn't hide. He was concerned for her, and what he saw at this crime scene did nothing to quell the emotions from his face, though hard he did try.

"What's next?" he asked.

"Now we find out who she is, and what the hell Callen Langford's attorney's card was doing in her pocket."

* * *

It was late in the afternoon when Lisbon and Abbott arrived at the office of Lane Wolf, _Attorney at Law_. They were facing down Lane Wolf himself—or, more appropriate than Lisbon cared to admit, Jane's nickname of "Nine" for his classy attire. She really disliked Lane. He was a bulldog in his defense of Callen. It wasn't just that, though. She hated lawyers whose only interest was getting the fat check at the end of the week from his clients. It's why he was so intense in his defense for Callen. The Austin City Public Relations office was paying his salary, and he didn't want to piss off the local government.

Lane Wolf was a sixty-three-year-old man whose hair was gray and cut clean close to his face. His blue eyes sunk in a little, giving him the appearance that he worked too hard. Lisbon didn't deny he didn't, but she rather thought he looked like he spent nights pouring over depositions and trial material. That could easily explain his very sharp dressing skills—which, today, consisted of pinstripe pants, a crisp white shirt that was unbuttoned at the top, and matching suit jacket. His hair was immaculately placed on the top of his head, and even when he sat down behind his desk and leaned back, he looked like he'd just come off a fashion runway show.

"Callen Langford is not my client any longer," he told them, pressing a tanned finger to his temple. "The charges are being dropped against him, so I am on stand-by until you guys accuse him of more heinous crimes." He sighed and dropped his finger, choosing to clasp his hands on his chest. "I can't help you, anyway. Lawyer-client privilege."

"We're not here for Langford," Abbott told Wolf, pushing his glasses further on his face and clearing his throat. "We are here about Amy Milano."

"Amy?" That caught his attention. He leaned forward and placed his elbows on his desk. "What about her?"

"She was your partner?" Lisbon asked, reaching into the folder she was holding and sliding a picture across the desk. "Is that her?"

She watched Lane's eyes fall to the photograph of a smiling Amy Milano, and she instantly recognized that he did know her. They were sure he did, but it was nice to be positive. She continued to watch as he picked up the photograph and nodded his head, raising his gaze first to Abbott and then to her.

"Yeah, that's her," he said. He shook his head. "Wait. You said _was_. What the hell is going on here?"

Lisbon stole a glance at Abbott, then spoke softly. "Amy's body was found this morning. I'm sorry."

Wolf looked genuinely shocked at the news. She wasn't Jane, but she rather thought it occurred naturally; nothing seemed fake or indifferent. Of course, many killers she had known had pretended to be hurt by a death notification—Red John the leading example in her mind.

"What happened?" he asked, sliding the photograph back to Lisbon. "How did Amy die?"

Lisbon took the photograph off Wolf's desk and placed it back in the folder, closing it and looking at Abbott, who she saw was trying to get a read on him. A few beats passed before Abbott finally told Lane that she was the victim of the serial killer that the local newspapers had started calling the "Austin Asphyxiator". Abbott lifted up the business card that was found in Amy's possession.

"This was on the body," he told him. "Your card. Any idea how that got there? Would Amy have taken your card for any reason?" He handed that over to Wolf, who in turn shook his head.

"No," Wolf responded. "She had her own cards made up. There would be no reason for her to have my card in her possession. She'd have had to come into my office to take them, and that's not possible when I am out, which is generally always," he explained. "She was an excellent attorney for me. I can imagine the unwanted publicity this is going to bring."

"Was she having any problems with anyone? Client? Friend?" Lisbon shrugged a shoulder swiftly, "anyone in her personal life you know about?"

Wolf laughed a tinkling laugh. "Excuse me for the insensitivity, but she was an attorney. She was lucky if she had time to sleep and eat, much less have a personal life. She was single." He dropped the smile from his face. "She had no enemies that I knew of. Some disgruntled clients, maybe, but we all have those. Langford wasn't exactly a prince, you know."

"Any idea what the back of the card is about?" Abbott asked. "Anything you know?"

Wolf flipped the card and shook his head after a few seconds. "No, but it is definitely Amy's handwriting. She loops her threes." He handed the card back to Abbott and looked at Lisbon. "She was a great person. Loyal."

"Loyal?" Lisbon's interest was piqued. "How so?"

"She could have left here and started her own firm. She had offers, too, from many prestigious law offices."

"Did she ever discuss leaving here? Going on her own?"

"No," Wolf said, suddenly tightly strung. "Why do I feel this is suddenly an interrogation? I know my rights, obviously, and I resent the line of questioning. I didn't kill her."

Lisbon sniffed and cocked her head infinitesimally. "How long were you sleeping together, Lane?"

"I wasn't sleeping with her!" he protested.

"How long?" Abbott piped in. "You better tell us, Lane. Your DNA could be all over her. You really want this getting out into the media? I imagine it would make all of this," he motioned to the suit and then the office, "go away really quick."

Lane was going to protest again but decided better of it. He sighed and placed a palm to his forehead, rubbing profusely for a moment before shaking his head and dropping his hand. "It was casual," he started. "More like two busy people, unattached, bonding. It doesn't mean I killed her."

"No, you are right. But it is very damning, Mr. Wolf," Abbott replied. "A lot of the victims had jobs that you would be in contact with. County clerk, two lawyers, including your bed and business partner, a probation officer…they all connect to you easily. Where were you this morning around nine-thirty?"

Wolf looked indignant. "Here! Doing paperwork. I did nothing wrong! I won't be accused of something I didn't do. My rights are being violated."

"We are just stating some facts," Lisbon said. "Unless you have something else to share?"

"I didn't kill her," he repeated. "But when I was interviewing Callen Langford for his case you brought against him, he mentioned to me that one of the young ladies he was sleeping with said she felt like she was being watched." He pushed a hand through his hair. "Amy told me the exact same thing a few weeks ago. She said she thought someone was following her home at night. When she read that in Langford's file—yes, she was helping me with it—she kind of got freaked out." He looked at them both. "That's what I know. But I didn't kill her."

"You thought she was being paranoid because she read it?" Lisbon asked.

"I thought it might have crept her out enough to leave a scar or two, yes."

"Did she ever see anything or anyone?"

"No," Wolf replied quickly. "She said it was just a feeling and once she thought she saw a light that faded when she was turning into her own driveway."

Abbott and Lisbon looked at each other. Two dead women claimed to have been stalked before they died. Whoever was killing these women followed them, knew their routine, and knew them specifically. These women were picked out weeks in advance. This wasn't random women he was killing that was his type. These were his prey; ladies that were a brunette, in a specific profession or job that closely related to each other. The Austin Asphyxiator seemed to be escalating his crimes, too. First a lowly county clerk, then slowly worked his way to two lawyers, the latest being Amy Milano.

That's why she got the dolls in advance of the bodies. It was his clue that he was stalking them. He was telling her that he had picked them out, not that they were dead. He picked them out right down to the clothes he'd dress them in. He even told her their names by engraving them in the legs. Jane was correct. The killer _was_ sending her clues, and he was starting to get bored and irritated she hasn't figured it out by now.

"One clue down," she muttered under her breath as Wolf leaned back in his chair once again, clasping his hands on his chest.

* * *

"There is something bothering me," said Jane, turning to her as she turned away from the FBI deep into the night. "Something I just can't figure out." He was annoyed that there was something wracking his brain that he couldn't place. It wasn't unusual; he had been out of investigations like these a while. He didn't expect it to last long. It was just irritating. "It's irritating," he said, voicing his thoughts between them.

"Well," Lisbon said, licking her lips, "Wolf is still not eliminated. He's at the top of the list, in fact." She sighed. "He could have stalked the victims himself for all we know."

"Hmm. Perhaps," Jane replied. "This town is like a real-life soap opera. Everyone sleeps with everyone else, and when people start dropping like flies the truth comes out." He looked over at Lisbon now and clicked his tongue. "But at least you figured out the first clue, Teresa. When you get a doll, it means he's stalking a new victim."

"If that's the case, why didn't I get one for Amy Milano?"

"Good question. I don't know the answer," he replied thoughtfully. "Could have been an unplanned killing."

"What's your take on Wolf?" She turned a corner and stopped at a red light. "What do you think?"

"He knew the victim, and I am sure he knew the others as well," said Jane softly. "Could be our man. Whoever this man is, he can't keep his need under control long."

"You don't sound so sure."

"Neither do you," Jane replied with a smirk. "One thing I do know is that this killer has some kind of connection with you." He was serious now. "All those women look strikingly like you. All have professions connected to law enforcement of some kind, just like you. He's sending you clues through very disturbing dolls, and he is dressing the victims much like how you dress."

"Jane," she warned stoically, "please don't start."

"I'm not starting, Teresa. I'm concerned. His murders are escalating in both brutality and time. The last victim was found only three weeks ago or so, wasn't she?" He shrugged a shoulder at her. "You don't find that disturbing?"

"I find it desperate," she lied. "He's getting sloppy. Putting business cards in her pocket for us to find. You call that a clue, I call that being dumb."

Jane shook his head and laughed without humor. "That's not dumb, Lisbon. That's reining you in as a pawn in his game. We have nothing to go on and he knows it. Well, we have nothing to go on right now. But as soon as Cho clears the scenes, I want to have a look inside."

"And what are you expecting to find?"

"See, killers like this spend so much time preparing the body that they sometimes leave behind small things that your tech teams," he air-quoted the term, "miss."

"Oh?" She looked sideways at him. "Like what?"

"Yes," he said with a small smile. "You'll see."

"Something you want to share?"

"Not particularly," he replied. "Could be nothing."

She let that go. "While you and Cho are doing that, I'll have Wylie pull Amy's phone records and see if anything pops up. I want to see if she may have known the other ladies. I imagine she talked to them once or twice, being she would have visited the public relations department quite a bit with her high profile cases. I'll also have him and Abbott see if the neighbors saw anything funny in the weeks prior to her murder. Any suspicious people hanging around."

"Sounds like you have it under control."

She could sense there was something else he wanted to say, but he refrained from doing so. She pulled into her driveway a moment later, putting her sedan in park and turning to Jane. She didn't want to admit that she was afraid to go inside and be alone. After today, she wasn't sure her weapon was a safety net for her or not. However, she didn't want to get into anything from the past either. She was truly stuck.

"Did you want me to come in for a while, Teresa?" she heard him ask in the dimness of the interior. "I wouldn't impose. It would just be for a while until you feel safe."

"I feel safe, Jane!" she snapped, though her voice cracked in the middle of the sentence.

"No, you don't," he challenged. "I can see it in your face. It's in your voice, too. You are frightened, Teresa. There is no shame in that. Not in this circumstance. I promise I won't bring up anything you don't want me to." He was almost begging, his own anxiety coming to the foreground. "You don't have to be alone." When she said nothing, he went on, "I am willing to bet he's stalking you, too. Seeing how afraid he makes you. Using that as power to keep the game going."

Something clicked in her head, causing her to shake it swiftly. "No. I don't need you to protect me, Jane. I am a goddamn cop. I'll be fine." She was met with silence, so she added, "If you come in, you know what will happen. We both do."

"Yeah," he agreed softly. "Is that such a bad thing compared to this? No protection, Teresa. Nothing to stop anyone."

"Oncoming trains cannot be stopped," she told him. "I know that is of little comfort to you, but it is the truth. I will be fine, anyway."

"Teresa…"

"I don't want you to come inside with me," she told him flatly. "I didn't bring you here to remind me of everything. I don't need you to remind me of what you did, and what I said."

He was silent for a long time, just the crickets outside the car sounding in the distance. After a while, he sighed deeply. "You turned down my marriage proposal, Lisbon. Threw the ring at me and told me to get out." He laughed mirthlessly. "I know that is painful for us both, and I understand why, but I wanted to apologize for my actions that night that led to all of that. It was irresponsible and if I could change what happened, I would."

She opened her car door and slammed it shut. She heard his a few seconds later slam, too. She turned to him and shook her head. "Go home, Jane. Just go home. I don't want to talk about it. Not now."

"Then when? I'm not leaving Austin until you tell me whatever it is on your mind. Tell me to go to hell and take a toothbrush or tell me what a selfish bastard I am for the way things happened, but I deserve answers, too. I need to know your reasons. I deserve that!" He was a little upset now. "You told Cho. I don't fault you at all for that. I am glad you had someone to confide in when you were hurting. But don't shut me out, Teresa. Don't do that again. Not for five years. Hell, not even for five more days."

"Goodnight, Jane," she told him, turning from him and walking up the drive.

He was left standing there shaking his head. He watched her unlock her door and slip inside the dark house, deciding to stay for a minute or two just to make sure things were all right. Finally, he placed his hands in his pockets, like he had done many times before, and walked away toward a bed he'd never even sleep in.

* * *

When Lisbon got inside, she closed the door and pressed her back against it, feeling the hard wood digging into her shoulder blades. She sighed deeply and tried to keep the tears from falling. She succeeded, but just barely. She knew that Jane would take the chance presented when she brought him back from Oregon. She just wasn't prepared for him to be so blunt. The night he had tried to give his ring to her—everything had gone wrong. Nothing about that memory was good and for him to bring it up and remind her made her shiver—a cold trickle down her spine at just the flashing memories he stirred up. This is why she was sure if these serial murders and the attention the killer was putting on her wasn't so complex, she might never have tracked him down. She'd have let him be in rainy Oregon, never knowing exactly what he was doing with his life or just how broken they both really were. She'd have kept living her life sad, lonely, and incomplete. For all intent and purposes, she still was.

She finally pushed away from the door and placed her keys on the table in the foyer. The house was quiet, and as she went, she turned on lights. She kept her weapon on her, just in case. She felt a lump in her throat and her heart hammer, which wasn't completely due to the creepy serial killer having a sick attachment to her.

She made her way down to the bathroom, stripping off her clothes, placing her weapon on the closed commode lid, and turning on the faucet to run herself a nice hot bath. She removed her necklace, sitting it safely on the sink basin, and, after her water reached the temperature she liked, she climbed in and closed the curtain. She let the water run down over her shoulders and back, leaning her head against the cold shower tiles and closing her eyes agonizingly hard.

Over the roar of the water and the drowning of all her thoughts about Jane, the killer, the dolls, and the murders, she never heard the hooded figure slip into the bathroom behind her.

* * *

 **A/N #1: I hope you enjoy this chapter. It was a very hard one to write. Not sure why, but it felt like a ton of bricks writing it—as if I couldn't find my footing for this chapter. I don't know how I feel about it. It's slower than I am used to writing, but I hope it will pay off soon, as we finally move along in time.**

 **A/N #2: Hi, Norah. I can't answer you privately because you were anonymous, but without giving too much away, Lisbon doesn't consider the meeting after he returned from the island as "seeing" him since it was a bad memory for her. This is why she considers it 5 years of no contact (which is technically still correct, because 2 years on the island and 3 more in Oregon away from her…). In later chapters, you will get more of what I mean. I promise.**

 **A/N #3: This fic has reached 100+ reviews! Thank all of you for reviewing! I don't answer reviews (can't do it on mobile), but please know that they do motivate me. If you don't review but still read it, I thank you as well. Thanks for your continued support.**


	8. Faltering

**Chapter 8 – Faltering**

* * *

 **Five Years Ago**

 _Her eyes snapped open, flooding her vision in darkness. Quickly, she rose her back off the mattress, setting herself on her elbows as she looked around at her darkened bedroom. She wasn't quite sure if what she heard was real, or some kind of illusion from her lack of sleep—it was hard to say. Still, she remained silent, her ears pricked up for anything. A few minutes went past in silence, and she thought her sleepless nights were the culprit._

 _She sighed deeply, followed by, "Great. Now you're going insane. This is what happens, Teresa. This is what happens before they have you committed to the asylum." She blew out a deep breath and laughed at herself. "Talking to yourself has to be up there, too. Get some sleep, damn it."_

 _She was lucky if she got any sleep anymore. Two years without the things she loved so much and coveted did a lot on her. Losing Jane was just hard. Waking up the first year knowing she wouldn't see him was the most difficult thing she had to face—not so much losing her job, though that too was hard. When her mind was drifting, she often wondered what he was doing, and if he missed her, too. She was alone after over a decade. She was at the end of a path that seemingly had nowhere else to take her. She went to bed every night knowing she'd never see Jane again. Not his bluish-green eyes, not his handsome face…nothing. Sometimes she caught herself opening her old cell phone just to see his picture inside of it with his old phone number. It at least gave her some comfort. Sometimes, though, when she had a bad day at work, it broke her heart even more to see it. Like getting rid of old ghosts just to have them haunt her all over again. The letters he wrote her stopped coming months and months ago, something she attributed to Jane not wanting the nosy FBI finding him._

 _She plopped back down on her pillow and turned on her side, determined to catch at least a few hours of sleep before she had to get up for her awesome, amazing, totally not boring job as Sheriff. She laughed at that and closed her eyes, listening to the pitter-patter of the rain slashing across the window. If Washington was good for one thing when it came to its weather, it was how it could lull even the most sleep deprived into a good slumber. She lay there not more than a minute or two when she heard the second sound. This was more of a definite bang from below. This time, she was sure it wasn't her sleep-pressed brain making stuff up. She bolted upright, kicking off her heavy comforter (god, how she missed the California nights where she needed air conditioning!), and reaching in the dark for her Glock, which she kept at arm's reach._

 _She felt her heart hammering in her chest as her feet hit the cold floor, making her way blindly to the doorway. Listening closer, she could hear some rummaging just beyond the stairs. Someone was definitely inside her home; a move she would have laughed at had she not had anxiety ripping through her veins. She regretting leaving her cell phone in the basket near the door. She'd have to remember not to do that anymore. A fat lot of good it was doing her now. Her training as a cop kicked in, and she placed her back against her bedroom door, poking her head out into the darkened hallway, her gun pointing in the direction of the stairs. She found the coast clear, so she slowly extracted herself from her room, walking down the hallway softly, careful not to walk too hard and alert whoever was down there, sticking to the shadows that seemed to elongate the hall._

 _She stopped close to the stairs to see if she could hear anything, but there was only silence coming from downstairs. She took the stairs ever so slowly, one-by-one, swinging her hands with her weapon in them in a sweeping motion as she got to the first landing. From the moonlight filtering in from between the curtains that covered the rain-spattered window, she could see that the living room was empty of anyone, and nothing seemed out of place. She descended the rest of the stairs, turning quickly when a small bang issued from the kitchen. Slowly advancing, she kept her weapon up, her finger on the trigger. As she moved herself to her kitchen doorway, she was able to make out a shadow moving back and forth in the darkness, blocking out the small stream of moonbeams shining in from the one window she had in her small kitchen, seemingly unaware that she was standing there; they continued to move in front of her._

 _This guy just broke into the wrong house, she thought as she stepped into the kitchen just as the shadow pushed itself over to the right-hand side and opened a door to one of her wall cabinets. Because she was short, she had to nearly step on the tips of her toes to press the cold, hard steel of her Glock against the back of their head, cocking the gun to make sure they knew it was very much loaded._

" _Don't move! What are you doing in my house?" she asked, her eyes focused, her need for sleep forgotten._

" _Just wondering if you had any Twinning's," the voice said, raising their hands up in the air. "You have a poor tea selection, Teresa. Plus, it's dark. Sorry about your sugar bowl. I do apologize."_

" _Jane?" Lisbon whispered in deep surprise._

 _Jane turned himself around to face her, sure she wouldn't shoot him. In the darkness, he found her green eyes—wide and stunned. He couldn't help but smile, though he wished he could touch her—reach out and hug her. He did not, though, for fear she wouldn't allow him._

" _Yeah," he whispered back. "It's me"_

* * *

"Does Jane know?" Abbott asked, turning to Cho as they pushed themselves out of Lisbon's tiny bathroom.

Cho shrugged a shoulder. "I left a message with the hotel clerk, but he said Jane hadn't come back yet." He turned to Lisbon, her hair still damp from the shower she had taken earlier. "You sure you're all right, Lisbon?"

"I'm fine," she said without hesitation. "I want my mother's cross back." She lifted a hand automatically to her neck, but it was completely bare. "Please make sure they don't lose it!"

"They won't lose it, Teresa," Abbott assured her. "I'll make sure forensics takes good care of it until we can release it back to you, okay?" He dipped his head so he could meet her downcast eyes. "Okay?"

"Yeah," she decided. "It just…it means a lot to me."

"I know," he replied. "We'll try to get fingerprints off it, and then you can have it back, okay?" He sighed deeply. "Right now, I think you need to get some sleep. You sure you don't want me to arrange a hotel for you for the night?"

"No, no. I'm fine," she said quickly. A little too quickly. "I don't think he'll be returning, Dennis."

"Lisbon, he came into your home, into the very room you were taking a shower in and left you another one of those dolls. More than that, he took your necklace and placed it around the doll's neck." Abbott shook his head and glanced at Cho. "It's okay to be scared, Teresa."

"The doll wasn't me," she replied with a shake of her head. "It was dressed exactly like Amy Milano. I bet you'll find her name gouged into the leg like the others." She dropped her hand from her empty neck and placed her hands in her jeans. "The necklace was just to send me a clue."

"Clue?"

"Jane thinks whoever is killing these women has some sick fascination with me. He thinks he's sending me clues with the bodies. We have one clue. Dolls mean he is stalking them. This one, however, is different. She's already dead."

"What's that mean?" Cho asked.

"It means this murder wasn't planned," Jane's voice said from behind them, causing them to turn to him. "The doll came second this time because he had to prepare it."

He sounded like he was out of breath, and a bead of sweat laced his forehead as his eyes found Lisbon. "You all right, Teresa?"

"Why do people keep asking me that? I am fine!" she said irritably. "I'm alive, aren't I?"

"Luckily," Cho said. "He could have hurt you."

"But he didn't."

"He's enjoying the game," Jane told them. "His bold move by coming into your home means he doesn't think you know what that clue was he left this afternoon on Amy Milano's body." He wasn't happy about Lisbon's nonchalant attitude A serial killer had broken into her house, and she was acting as if it was fine. Things were definitely _not_ fine.

"I don't," she said. "Either do you."

"That has to be a first," Abbott said, his gaze falling on Jane.

"Mm," he muttered. "Temporary, I assure you. I've been out of the loop a while. Give me time. The dolls are the first clue all of themselves. The second clue is the numbers on the back of Wolf's card. I am sure of it." He put a finger to his lips and tapped on them. "The numbers are familiar to me. I've seen them. Just have to put it to mnemonics…" he trailed off. "Point is, he's left us clues to his identity, and we have to figure them out."

"What about the clothes missing from the closets of the victims? Another clue?" Abbott asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

"No," Jane said immediately. "More indicative of a fetish. He likes seeing them in work attire. He associates that with Lisbon, now. When he first started killing, it was merely a convenience. His MO changed, I suspect."

"I got those crime scenes cleared," Cho told him. "If you still want to visit their closets or whatever, we can go tomorrow."

"Mm," said Jane. "Yes. I want to check something out. If my working theory is correct, we might be able to gain the upper hand. For now, though, I'd like Lisbon to come with me. Stay with me as a precaution."

Lisbon scoffed. "No. Absolutely not. I am fine right here."

"I don't think you are, Teresa. You told me you were going to fine, so I willingly left you. Look what that accomplished."

Cho and Abbott looked at each other and turned to walk out of the bathroom, leaving Jane and Lisbon alone as they shuffled the forensic team out of Lisbon's home. Lisbon waited until all was quiet before bending down to pick up a used towel on the floor and straightening herself.

She was startled to see Jane had moved swiftly and soundlessly in front of her, his bluish-green eyes boring into her. She stood defiantly in front of him, her chin rising in the air. It was quiet for a few tense moments, the only sound being the forensic units leaving—slamming doors and their engines finally falling away in the distance. The only sound now was their breathing. She studied his face; the sharp jaw line, his piercing eyes never faltering from hers…

"Your cross is gone," he said softly, reaching out and touching her bare neck, sending a tingle through his veins. "We'll get it back. They'll take care of it. I know you're worried about it. I know how much it means to you. I really think you need someone to stay with you. If not me, then Abbott or Cho."

"No." She backed away from his touch, and he dropped his hand.

"This is non-negotiable, Teresa," he told her softly and seriously. "Don't be stupid."

"Stupid?" That broke her from her silent regard of his face. "I'm not! I don't need you to babysit me, Jane. Besides, what are you going to do if he comes back? Tea him to death?"

"That's not fair," responded Jane. "The real reason you don't want to come with me is because you're afraid I'll bring up the past you so desperately hate talking about." He stepped forward, his body mere inches from hers. "And you are probably right. But you are going to have to deal with it, Teresa, because I am not leaving you. You can either come with me to my hotel room—or I can stay here with you. Either way, I am not leaving you." He could see her protest, and he held up a hand to stop her. "Okay. Okay. I can see you won't admit how scared you are, even though I can see it."

She stared at him hard, her eyes narrowing into slits. "You don't get to tell me how I feel, Jane. You don't get to do that. The last time you tried to tell me how I felt, it didn't end well. If you want to stay, fine. Stay. I won't stop you." She shook her head. "You'll probably sleep in my driveway, anyway. But don't you ever analyze how I feel."

She shoved the damp towel in his hands and walked passed him, leaving him standing there in the small bathroom. He wished she'd realize how much he is concerned about her. This guy hasn't tried to do anything yet, but the closer they get to solving the clues, the braver and more desperate the killer becomes. What he didn't tell Lisbon was that figuring out how the killer was spelled her turn to be dumped in that culvert, and her doll sent to the FBI. Not just a warning, but a statistic of his body count.

He hadn't gone back to his hotel right away, instead choosing to take a walk to clear his mind. He was still trying to figure out where he knew those numbers from, but it was still fuzzy. It was as he was going back over the case in his head that he decided to head off to Lisbon's. He wanted to initially walk passed, but when he saw the police and forensic units, his heart dropped to his feet and his breath caught in his throat. He had fully expected to walk into her house and see her body or at the very least, her missing. He'd know where she was then; in the stretch of a culvert along the highway. He shuddered just thinking about it. He had stopped the first forensic tech he encountered and immediately demanded to know what happened—fearing the worst, but hoping for the best. He was relieved to hear Lisbon was fine but disturbed by what the tech said they found in her bathroom.

He didn't want to tell her—scare her anymore than she was already, but the killer's escalation of breaking in her house and setting the doll where she could easily find it suggested two things: one, he had to be stalking her to know when she came home and what she was doing, and, two, and probably most disturbing of all, he seemed to be sure she'd never find out who he was. Made him brave. Brave killers were unpredictable. This one was stalking Lisbon. What comes after stalking? He didn't even want to think about it.

He dropped the towel onto the floor and turned himself around, walking out of the bathroom and down the hall. He found Lisbon dropping a pillow and cover onto the couch. She looked up at him and nodded toward the pile.

"There. It's the best I can do," she told him.

"It's fine, thanks." He stepped forward in the dim light of her table lamp. "Lisbon…"

"I don't want to hear it. I just want to go to bed, okay?" She looked tired, her eyes heavy and her body swaying just a little.

"Okay," he replied softly. "I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry for calling you stupid earlier. I didn't mean it. I just want you to be safe."

She nodded. "I know." She regarded him intensely in the light and thought he rather looked sad. She sighed and turned herself, sitting down on the couch and running a hand through her hair. "Now I know how you felt with Red John."

"Mm," he said, bending down to move the bedding, sitting it on the floor at his feet before taking its place on the couch. "You want to catch him. I understand."

"More than catching him, Jane. I want to him to suffer just as bad as those women."

"That is normal to feel," he responded. "Even when you have high morals."

She nodded her head at that. She was quiet for a moment as if she were thinking something over. Finally, she turned to him. "I thought about you every single day you were gone, Jane. Every day."

"I know," he said softly. "And I you."

"I thought about what I'd say to you if I ever saw you again. I can't say it was all pleasant."

He chuckled. "I figured."

"You know why I said no to your proposal, don't you?" she asked him in just a whisper. "I keep going over and over that in my mind and wondering if I reacted too badly."

He shook his head. "No. I expected you to react that way. I was less than understanding, Teresa. I was fooled and blinded by my own wants and needs. I said so many wrong things. I'd have been disappointed if you hadn't."

She sighed heavily and again ran a hand through her damp hair. "I never apologized for bringing up your wife. It was…foolish to think I could use her as an example. I never wanted to hurt you that way."

"Teresa, please."

"I just wanted you to know that I am sorry for everything, Jane," she said. "I am holding onto anger and pain that I should leave go."

He was confused by her openness after she fought so hard to avoid this topic. "Everything all right, Teresa?"

She stood and turned to him. "Yeah," she replied. "I just wanted you to know that. Just in case."

"Just in case, what?"

"Goodnight, Jane." She turned from him and disappeared into the hall.

He sat there for a long time after in the stillness. He was no longer confused by her willingness to talk even a little about what happened. He understood her perfectly. He wouldn't get any sleep tonight, either.

* * *

 **A/N #1: Filler chapter to bridge the gap so I can start moving forward in time by a few days. Over the next few chapters, I should start revealing more and more of that night. Also, Jane's hunch proves right in the next chapter, and Lisbon's openness to Jane after her vehement disregard to do so is examined by Jane.**

 **A/N #2: As always, thanks so much for any and all comments. Quite a few new readers of this story. Hopefully, I can start revealing more and more and connecting some of the clues already laid out for you. I appreciate all of you. Thanks!**


	9. Whatever It Takes

**Chapter 9 – Whatever It Takes**

* * *

Five Years Ago

 _She set the mug down in front of him and took her seat beside him. Her green eyes never left his face as she took in how two years on a sunny, humid island changed his face. It hadn't done a whole lot, though he was tanner than she remembered, and his beard had grown a little gruffer than she recalled. Most strikingly, however, was how carefree he seemed to be. Even when they had hugged—well, when she had pulled him into a bear hug—she noticed how much more relaxed he seemed. Even when she started to cry on his shoulder and whisper that she thought she'd never see him again, his arms tightened around her, holding her as if he would never get the chance again, there was a sense of release and relief in it. Even when he had brought the pads of his thumbs up to sweep away the stray tears, there was a renewed gentleness; she could almost feel the weight lifted off him, and the rebirth of a new man._

 _She hadn't known how long they were in the kitchen, her head on his shoulder and his arms around her, but finally, Jane pulled her away and surveyed her in the darkness, his eyes keenly able to see the changes within her hair — "a little longer than I remember" he had said. She almost couldn't say anything. She was too surprised that he was actually standing in her kitchen after two years. She wasn't even concerned at the time how he had gotten her address or how he got back. She was too grateful he was actually here. Without much of a nudge, she quietly made them a kettle of tea – she found the Twinning's—as he watched her carefully, the smile unable to be moved from either of their faces._

 _Now, sitting in the dim light from the table lamp, they sipped their tea for a few soundless moments, neither wanting to break the mood. But there were questions. And as much as she was glad he was back and had sought her out, she couldn't ignore the curiosity creeping up in her mind._

" _You have questions," Jane finally said, setting down his tea and turning to her. "I haven't forgotten how to read you, Teresa," he added off her look. "When will you learn to stop questioning how I know things?" He chuckled and sighed._

" _I didn't think you were ever going to come back," she said in a whisper, setting her own tea down. "I didn't think I would see you again." Her voice broke just a little in between her words, conveying the emotions she was trying to keep under control._

" _Me, either," he said truthfully, regarding her carefully. "I had hoped, of course, but I didn't think it would ever come to fruition." He smiled sadly at her. "You are wondering how I am here without handcuffs on my wrists." It was not a question, but a statement._

" _I'd be lying if I said I wasn't," she told him. "Does Abbott know you are here?"_

 _He nodded his head affirmatively. "Yeah. He knows. He's the reason I'm here."_

 _She was confused. She furrowed her eyebrows and cocked her head at Jane. "He knows you're here?"_

" _Yeah," Jane confirmed. "He gave me your address. I didn't want him to disturb you with everything, so I decided to come here myself. I do apologize for the late visit. And for almost making you shoot me," he added as an afterthought._

" _You brokered a deal with the FBI?" She was shocked at this news; mostly because she never thought Jane would ever take an offer to come back to the United States, and certainly not from the FBI, who nearly fucked up his revenge plot._

" _It seemed like the right thing to do," he replied. "Work with them—you, and have my freedom secured."_

" _I thought once you did what you set out to do," she didn't want to say kill Red John, "that you'd never work in this field. I thought you'd just stay where you were and live happily."_

" _Vanquishing my old ghosts didn't make me nearly as happy as you'd think," he replied, reaching over to pick up his tea once again, sipping it slowly. "Besides, any happiness I possess did not come from there." He looked at her again, this time, more intensely._

 _She felt her cheeks flush. "What made you come here, right off? You're a free man, now," she told him with a laugh. "You could go do anything you wanted. So why come to rainy Washington?"_

 _He smiled widely, the corners of his mouth touching his ears. "I had to come see you, Teresa. Two years with nothing but my memory palace to keep you almost drove me mad. While my palace is particularly well maintained, it is nothing to the real thing."_

" _You'll be in Austin working for the FBI," she said, downtrodden at the thought. "I'm here in Washington, Jane."_

 _He shrugged. "So quit."_

" _I can't just quit my job, Jane," she said with a small laugh that was not made in humor. "This is my livelihood. Besides, Abbott never made me an offer. I don't think he would even if he could swing it, Jane."_

" _He's agreed to my freedom," Jane told her, "but there were two sticking points."_

" _You initiated the deal with the FBI?" She was surprised by this._

 _"Technically, yes," he said, sitting back on the couch. "I realized a lot of things; had a lot of time to think there." He inhaled and exhaled sharply. "I didn't want to live there for the rest of my life. I wasn't living with what I did, Teresa, I was just hiding from the consequences it created."_

 _Lisbon took her tea and sipped a heavy sip, watching him intently over the rim of her mug. Finally, she pushed the mug from her lips and tried to read his face. Like many times before, it was a closed book. She was unable to read it._

" _What were the sticking points, Jane?" she finally asked._

" _He wanted me to persuade you to come work for the FBI, Teresa," he told her without hesitation. "You are part of the freedom package. Should you decline, I'll be tried and, if we are both being realistic, found guilty to the murder of Thomas McAllister."_

" _You came here just for this? So I would agree to whatever crap you and Abbott came up with? Drop my life for you again?"_

* * *

He was gone by the time she woke up. He left only when he was sure she'd be safe, which was early the next morning. He thought it best if he wasn't there when she woke up. Instead, he had made her coffee and left a few bagels out on the counter for her to find. He couldn't shake Lisbon's openness; how she had changed her mind and discussed the past a little with him. He knew why she had. She thought she'd do it while she had the chance because she might not get another one. But he'd make sure she would. Whoever was killing these women and taunting Lisbon would pay dearly. He'd make sure of that.

"This is the third victim's apartment," Cho told him, breaking him from his thoughts. "It's empty, but I know that won't stop you."

"Ah," said Jane, walking into the empty bedroom and throwing open the double closet doors. "Spacious. He wouldn't have had to move much around." He looked inside the closet. It was bare and very clean. Almost too clean. "And forensics found nothing?"

"No," Cho said from behind him. "They took the clothes, swept for blood and semen stains. Nothing."

"Fingerprints?"

"Yes, from what I know," Cho answered back. "Why?"

"Just as I thought," he said, turning back to Cho. "From the reports Lisbon showed me, the closets were deep. All of them. Can I use you as an example?" Jane stepped away from the closet. "I need you to remove your suit jacket, please." He did the same, taking his own suit jacket off and hanging it on one of the four loose hangers on the rod. He took Cho's jacket as well and did the same thing.

Cho sighed and stepped forward reluctantly. Jane positioned Cho in the front of the closet, positioning his hands as if he were rummaging through clothing, but careful not to touch the rod that went across the back of the closet where the clothing once hung from hangers. Once he was satisfied with Cho's position, he stood back and focused intently on it.

"Try to grab something from the back of the closet, Cho," he instructed. "Imagine there is clothing in the back you want to get to."

Cho did as he was asked, leaning into the closet, fake fumbling with hangers that held their jackets. One of the jackets fell from the rod, landing on Cho before falling to the floor. Finally, he felt silly enough to turn to Jane and cross his arms. "This is stupid," he told him. "What does this even mean?"

"What do you think the odds are that nothing fell on him as he was rummaging quickly to find which outfit he would dress her in?" Jane asked. "Unlikely, right?"

"Probably, but what does it matter? Forensics found nothing on the clothing that was found on the body," Cho told him.

"Maybe not on the body," he told his friend, "but on the clothing that was inside the closets." Jane tapped his lips with his finger. "Would forensics have tested those?"

"Just the ones in the immediate vicinity," Cho told him. "You think some fell, transferring hair or fibers and he put it back up?"

"Mm," Jane murmured. "It's a working theory. But nobody would be able to dig in a closet of this size without knocking down some clothing. He could have left us some good things on those clothing you let her family take."

"Sometimes I hate you," Cho told him, reaching to pull out his phone from his pocket.

"Only sometimes?" Jane teased.

* * *

Abbott hung up from his phone call with Cho, his intention next to call the family of Stacey Walton, the third victim, and see if they could get her clothing. He hoped by some miracle, they hadn't donated it or gotten rid of it. It was nearly a month since her murder and subsequent release of her persona effects, so he wasn't holding much hope they still had them, or, if they did, it still had any viable evidence on them.

He didn't get that far, though, because the director of the FBI, Robert Townsend, had just walked through his office door, and he wasn't too happy judging by the look on his face. The director sat down and tucked his tie into his suit jacket, his beady brown eyes boring a hole right through Abbott.

"Director Townsend, what brings you to my office?" Abbott said innocently. "I don't believe I was expecting you."

"Cut the crap, Dennis. I just got a call from the squad. You know what they told me?"

Abbott shook his head. "Not a clue, sir."

"I bet you don't," Townsend said sarcastically in return. "Don't you play stupid with me, Abbott. I told you that case was a waste of time and resources. There is no evidence to be found, and I don't want any of the publicity that goes along with a serial killer case like this. Especially not one that involves one of our agents. When I have people calling me during a convention, and telling me that you guys are threatening lawyers, I pay attention."

"Sir, we are actively looking for evidence. We just found a break!"

"I don't want you working on this anymore, Dennis," he told him, pointing at him with his finger. "Especially since it is too close to your team. He's clearly targeting Agent Lisbon. I don't want you guys near this one."

"But, sir…"

"My hands are tied! You went behind my back to work on this, plus you have Patrick Jane down here to mess up the work we already have done. I want your team off this case! Now!" He stood again and frowned. "I also want Patrick Jane on the first flight out of here back to Oregon. This is not an official case, and he is not here in any official capacity. I want him GONE!"

"Robert," Abbott said, hoping using his boss's first name would give him brownie points, "with all due respect, I think that would be a mistake."

The director turned himself and walked over to Abbott's office door. "I want him gone, Dennis. If he's not gone by tomorrow afternoon, I will personally see to it that this team is shut down for a while and that the case files are sealed. You have until tomorrow afternoon to send him packing." And with that, Townsend drifted through the open door and out of sight.

Lisbon watched him leave as she entered Abbott's office, her eyes following the director before turning to Abbott. "What did Director Townsend want?" she asked, though she was fairly certain what his visit was really about.

"He knows we're working on the case, Teresa," Abbott told him. "Even with the potential lead we just got from Jane, he's not relinquishing." Abbott shook his head.

"So? We just do it under his nose like before," she said with a small shrug of her slim shoulder.

Abbott sighed, "Not this time, Teresa. He's threatening to seal the files. If we keep going at this, he'll make it difficult."

"So copy the files," Lisbon told him. "Let him seal them, then. You'll still have copies."

"If I copy the files and we continue to work the case and he finds out, we are all out of a job, Teresa," he told her sadly. "And, honestly, you are too good a cop to go down like that." Abbott leaned back in his chair and looked at Lisbon over his glasses. "That's not the worst of it."

"What is it?"

"He wants Jane out of here and back in Oregon by tomorrow afternoon," he said.

"Are—are you going to make him go?" Lisbon asked, suddenly whispering.

Abbott looked her straight in the eyes and sighed. "I have no choice, Teresa. I'm sorry."

* * *

 **A/N: I hope you are still enjoying this fic. I think I put a general direction to what happened that night, but still one more flashback, I think next chapter. Also, clever Jane found a clue. I googled if forensic units actually test all clothing in a closet of a murder scene, and from what I could gather, they don't unless they suspect it contains DNA, and even then just a few pieces nearest. It wasn't clear cut, so I am not sure if it's accurate. I apologize in advance if it is not. Please don't let the authorities find my internet history—yikes!**

 **A/N #2: The next chapter will be incredibly angsty, so I will prepare you now. What's a little lovin' without some drama first? ;)**


	10. Total Recall

**Chapter 10 – Total Recall**

* * *

"He's just trying to maintain power," Jane told Abbott, seemingly unfazed by the news that Townsend wanted him back in Oregon by the next afternoon.

"I just assumed it was the fact you seem to piss off everyone you meet," Cho answered. "That's why he agreed to let you transfer when…" he stole a glance at Lisbon and trailed off. "Never mind."

Abbott shook his head and pulled his glasses from his frowning face. "What other choice do I have? I can't risk everyone's jobs. He's the director of the FBI, damn it." He sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair. "My hands are tied. There isn't anything I can really do."

"Sure there is," Jane assured him with a quick smile. "There is always something you can do."

"Something that isn't going to piss him off, even more, Jane," Abbott clarified. "And that is something I know you don't have."

"Ouch," Jane said in mock pain. "That really hurts, Dennis." He chuckled. "You pulled strings to _get_ me here, so how about pulling some more to _keep_ me here?"

Abbott scoffed. "I blew through all my channels, Jane. What would you have me do?"

"Sir," Lisbon broke in from her chair next to Jane, "we need him. We couldn't figure it out on our own, which is why I went to Oregon to get him."

"You asked me where he was. Begged, as I recall," he reminded her. "I relinquished because I know you two had a rough patch for a few years. I thought this would be good for you both. I let you go because you've been moping around here since he left five years ago, and never stopped. But if last night was any indication, nothing has changed. Maybe it's better he goes back, Teresa." Abbott shook his head. "Maybe the director is right. We should drop this case while the getting is good."

"Sir…" Lisbon pressed.

"Look, Dennis," Jane said, leaning forward in his chair toward his old boss, cutting across Lisbon, "if you can get me a few more days—possibly three, at least, I can guarantee you that I will have the killer. I just need you to get me a little more time."

"I hate to admit it, but if we want to catch this guy, Jane is our best bet," Cho said.

"Thank you, Cho," Jane replied. "That's nice of you to say."

"Shut up."

"Okay," Jane responded with a small smile. He turned back to Abbott. "But he is correct, Dennis. I am getting close. I know it. Just give me three days."

Dennis heaved a loud, exasperated sigh at the three of them. "This goes against my better judgment, not to mention could prove to be why I end up working in some kind of factory that makes plastic combs for five bucks an hour."

"Nah," Jane told him with a dismissive hand. "Don't be silly. You're bald. They would laugh at the irony."

"You are not helping yourself out, Jane," replied Abbott, watching Lisbon crack a smile at the jab. Cho, as usual, remained stoic. "This is the last favor I have, and I am pulling this out of my ass, Jane. If you don't nab this guy in three days, it's over. You get that?"

"What are you going to tell the director?" Lisbon asked.

"Nothing," he said. "I will call in a favor and have a friend call him and tell him Jane arrived safely back in Oregon. This means that you'll need to stay out of sight. You can't be here, Jane. Is that clear?" He looked at Jane pointedly. "It's the best I can do for now."

"That'll do, Dennis. Really. Three days. So," Jane said, standing abruptly and clapping his hands together, "when can we get those clothing analyzed?"

"As soon as the family sends them to us. I've put in a request, and they should be bringing them to us in the next few hours. I should tell you guys that the case can't be worked here. Not with the director up our asses. It has to be done low-key and preferably somewhere that isn't here."

"My house," Lisbon offered. "We can run it from there."

"No," Jane told her with a shake of his head. "We can't risk it. He broke into your house once, Teresa. Don't invite him to go the extra step." He pushed a hand through his hair. "My hotel room should be sufficient. It's public. I doubt he will attempt anything brash."

"Fine," Lisbon gave in. "It's settled then."

"Good," Abbott replied. "Wylie, the family should be coming soon. Can you make sure they find my office when they do?" He turned to Cho. "Take Jane back to his hotel, go over everything we already know, and all the evidence again."

"Yes, sir," Wylie said, turning himself and leaving the office.

"The clothing will produce something," Jane assured him. "Cho did a fantastic mock-up of searching through the closet for a particular outfit, and the killer would have had to have knocked clothing from the hangers onto himself," Jane explained. "It's probable the killer re-hung the clothing, leaving behind hair or fibers."

"And the number on Amy Milano's card?"

"Working on it. It still eludes me," Jane admitted. "What about Lisbon's cross? When can she have it back?"

Lisbon's hand went automatically to her neck. "Are they done with it?"

Dennis nodded. "You can probably go pick it up in the evidence room. There wasn't anything on it. No fingerprints."

"Hmm." Jane murmured.

"Come on, Jane," Cho said out of impatience. "Let's go."

Jane looked at Lisbon just long enough to see some kind of relief on her face. He wasn't quite sure if it was for her cross necklace being released, or because he was staying. He'd like to have thought both, but where Teresa was concerned, he wasn't sure about anything.

* * *

 **Five Years Ago**

 _She stood abruptly, watching his lips turn down into a deep frown. She wouldn't admit that his admission to her stung; that would be a weakness for her. Instead, she placed a hand on the back of her neck and shook her head, watching as Jane stood, too, his hands at his sides._

" _You came here to talk me into a job that you promised the FBI?" she asked. "You didn't come here to see me, did you? You came here to cement your own freedom." It was barely a whisper. "I thought you had come back here because you missed me." Her voice broke between her words like a fractured piece of glass, bits falling to the ground and shattering._

" _I did miss you, Teresa," he quickly replied. "Very much. I don't want you to think otherwise." He was trying to plead with her, but he could tell it was falling on deaf ears._

" _You came here because the FBI wanted you to," she whispered through her suddenly dry lips. "Because you leveraged me like some kind of poker chip! I was your ticket back here to the US!" She was no longer whispering by the end of her statement. It was clear, though, that she was upset. "I thought you came back for me."_

 _Jane moved swiftly, reaching out to take her free hand. He flinched when she pulled her hand from his immediately. He stood in the darkness for a tense minute, watching her fall apart in front of him and wanting so much to comfort her._

" _Teresa, please," he told her. "I think you are reading all my intentions wrong." He shook his head. "Listen! I had to promise them what I did! It was the only way for me to see you again! Don't you understand? I did this for you! I am risking my life's freedom by being here. By asking you this."_

" _You only ever care about yourself, Jane. Screw what I think, because I don't matter to you. What I want doesn't count. You are using me. That's all you've ever done from the time I met you, Jane. Use me to get to your own end!" She lowered her hand from her neck and held it up in between them, palm facing Jane. "You disappear from my life for two years. Two goddamn years, Jane, that I sat at my stupid desk in a job I hate and thought of you and what you were doing. TWO YEARS!" She didn't care that she was raising her voice; she was angry and sad that he had only come to upheave her life once again. "You didn't even have the decency to take into consideration what I might have wanted."_

 _Jane cocked his head. "I wouldn't have been able to come back and see you any other way, Teresa. And you are right. I did disappear. But don't you think I paid for it every single day I was there on that island? That I didn't think of you or how I was going to get myself out of the mess I was in so I could see you?" Jane lowered his head and looked at his feet sadly. "So, yes. I did take their offer, and, yes, I am here to ask that favor of you, but that doesn't mean that I am not glad to see your face or touch you, or feel your warmth in my arms. It doesn't mean that, Teresa."_

 _Lisbon scoffed, the tears starting to fall. She let them drop with reckless abandon as she shook her head hard in the dim light between them. "I'm a favor to you. That's all I am. That's all I have been. From the start, I was a favor; something you could use and ask and manipulate for your own needs."_

" _If you don't want to work for the FBI, Teresa, I will gladly say no and do what I owe to the justice system," he replied, inching closer to her, "and I will still be completely happy because I got to see you before that happened. But I never, ever considered you a favor. That's not fair of you to say, Teresa."_

" _And what is this? I am your favor to keep you out of jail"_

" _This is me wanting to see your face again, Teresa!" He was raising his voice to her, but he didn't care. Couldn't she see that he was here because he missed her? Because she was the only thing on his mind the entire time he was stuck on that goddamn island? Yes, he brokered the FBI deal, but it was the only way to see her again. Couldn't she understand? "This is me asking for some kind of forgiveness for leaving you without a proper goodbye. This is me asking that you stop reprimanding me because I was desperate to get back to you!"_

" _This is you trying to get out of what you did, Jane," she told him sharply. "You took justice into your own hands, and now the consequences were not to your liking, so you decide that once again, you are going to push me into another life that I can't choose for myself! I was so happy to see you tonight, Jane." Her voice cracked. "I was so happy and you ruined it."_

" _I think you are being unbelievably unfair, Teresa," Jane told her. "I did what I did for myself, yes, but also for you. I wanted to make you happy, and I thought coming here, coming back would do that. I guess I was wrong." He was silent a moment. "Tell me how I can fix things. Tell me how to make you see that my intentions were pure."_

" _There is nothing you can do, Jane." She shook her head and dipped it so he couldn't read her face and eyes. "There is nothing to say or do. You obviously didn't come back for me. You came back for you."_

 _He was soundless for the longest time, just the sounds of their breathing echoing in the dim room were audible. "She'd forgive me, Lisbon. She did, actually. More times than I can possibly count. Angela forgave me, and that is what kept everything from falling apart."_

" _I'M NOT HER!" Lisbon shouted, lifting her head up. "Don't you do that! Don't you use your dead wife as a guilt trip. That's not who you are, and that is not what this is."_

" _I am just trying to tell you that forgiving someone can save a crumbling relationship."_

" _You think it's crumbling?" Lisbon laughed without humor. "We haven't had a relationship of any kind in two years. You saw to that."_

" _We are both here," Jane told her. "And I wouldn't have come if I didn't want some sort of reconciliation."_

" _So you can take off again? Shatter what little hope I had? You are good at that, Jane. You are a marathon runner if anything!" She sniffed, trying to contain the tear flow. "I don't care-"_

" _I love you," he blurted out. "I love you, and I promise you I won't go anywhere, Teresa. Not even if you decide not to work with me at the FBI. I will always be here. I've learned that I am not happy unless I am with you. When I can see you."_

" _Until the next opportunity comes knocking," she whispered_

" _So marry me," he replied. She watched as he lifted his hand up and used his other to push his golden band from his finger. He held it up in the dim light and looked at her, his bluish-green eyes locking onto her green ones. "Marry me and be my anchor. Tether me to you, Teresa. Give me a reason to stay beside you for as long as we live. Be the reason I settle into life and keep afloat. I don't want to leave you again, Teresa. Believe me when I say that I only had good intentions. I never meant to hurt you, and I love you. So much so I can't imagine life without you. It's why I came back, Teresa. Anchor me. Marry me."_

 _She was stunned silent for a few long minutes, her eyes falling from his to the outstretched ring, then back to his eyes. She closed her mouth and opened it like a fish several times, but was unable to form any words. His admission and his proposal were surprising and completely ill-timed. Not to mention she thought for sure he was only doing so so that she'd agree to work for the FBI. She wasn't completely sure of his motives, but it was what was closest in her mind for his sudden actions. She found herself stepping back from him and shaking her head._

" _N—no," she stammered. "No."_

" _Why not?" She could tell he was on the verge of his own tears, his voice watery._

" _Because," she said, closing her eyes. "You need to leave."_

" _Teresa, I…"_

" _Please! Leave!"_

" _Angela would…"_

" _I'M NOT HER! You can get out of my house! Just LEAVE!" She reached over, grabbing the ring from his fingers and flung it so that it hit him in the chest. She heard it hit the wooden floor, but everything was blurry with the tears falling thick and fat. "Don't come back. Don't you ever come back, Patrick Jane!"_

 _He nodded his head sadly, not bothering to look for his ring on the floor. Instead, he turned around walked slowly and sadly to the front door. He didn't look back as he opened it and slid out into the night._

 _She stood there for who knew how long, the tears falling down her face and dropping onto her bare feet. How dare he? How dare he do that to her? She stood there until her knees were weak from standing before she realized that she couldn't let him go, either. Though she didn't tell him, she loved him, too. He was her anchor; her reason for believing that people can change for the better. She was angry and bitter that he used her to control his own freedom, but she was realizing, as she looked at the open door, that this is what she wanted, after all. She wanted him back, she wanted to be a part of his world again, and she wanted him._

" _Shit," she whispered, getting her weak knees working again as she ran to the open door. "Jane!" she called out, running out into the darkness of her porch as the rain fell hard, drenching her. "Jane," she whispered._

 _But he was long gone. And it would be the last time she would see him for another three long years._

* * *

"Here it is," Alex told Lisbon, handing the box over to her. "I bet you're glad to get that back."

Lisbon smiled at the officer. "Yes. I am grateful they didn't find anything on it. That would have been months of hoops to hop through." She opened the box and pulled out the plastic bag that held the cross. "Thanks."

Alex smiled. "No problem. How's the case coming? Been a long one for you guys, huh?"

"It has," she replied, pulling the necklace from the bag and holding it up. "Could you help me put this on?"

"Sure," he said cheerfully, coming around the counter and taking the necklace in his hands. He went around to the back of her and closed the lobster clasp, securely attaching the necklace to Lisbon's neck. "There."

Lisbon turned around and smiled at him. "Thank you, Alex." She fixed the cross to her liking and sighed. "Nothing much. We found a card on a victim, but so far we don't have anything to go on." Her eyes slid up his uniform, the gleam of his badge in the light of the fluorescents shining brilliantly. That's when she noticed it.

Alex's badge number was the same number left on the back of the card they pulled off the body of Amy Milano: **49223**.

Lisbon backed up slowly from him, her eyes drifting up to his, her mouth open in a little bit of surprise. She smiled weakly at him, placing her hand on her necklace. She could see Alex's face warp in confusion.

"Everything all right, Teresa?" he asked her.

She nodded stiffly. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. I—I should get back upstairs. We have a lot of work to do."

She turned around and headed for the door. She opened it, but it was immediately pushed shut again by a hand from behind her. She turned herself quickly to see Alex hovering just in front of her.

"I can't let you do that, Teresa," he told her. "I'm sorry."

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for the reviews and love. I hope you still are with me. I can't gauge if you are lol. We are so not done with this tale…we have some little ways to go. I am not too good in the Angst department writing wise, but hope you enjoyed that little bit. There will be more. Next time, Jane and Lisbon finally have that talk, and we find out some startling information that puts the case in a new direction.**

 **A/N #2: If you are looking for a great story, I recommend** _ **The Poison Tree by Thortons**_ **. It's awesome and moving. Also, I have been re-reading one of my very favorites** _ **, Domus Hadeum (or Where You Live) by MerriWyllow**_ **. Such a great story that I love. I hope you will check both of them out!**


	11. Casualty Of War

**Chapter 11 – Casualty of War**

* * *

"Was she really mopping around?" Jane asked Cho, flipping through interview transcriptions. "I know you don't want to be involved," he added, "but I would appreciate knowing this fact."

"Ask her," Cho replied, eyeing a particularly disdainful slice of pizza with bacon on it. "Almost as bad as pineapple,' he complained with a shake of his head. "Contamination! I am never allowing you to order the food while I am in the bathroom again."

"Meh," he said with a poignant flip of his hand. "She won't talk to me. Not that I really expected her to when I agreed to come back here and help."

"Then why did you agree at all? You came back, told her she had to leave everything she worked hard to gain back behind just so you could come back to the U.S.," Cho responded. "You knew she'd still be sore about it."

Jane smiled crookedly despite himself. "Mm. I did know she would be. But," he lifted a finger up, "just to clarify my own stance, I actually came back because I needed to see her. The FBI's demands for me to do so did not change that."

"Could have fooled us," Cho murmured, still eyeing the pizza with contempt. "To answer a question I normally wouldn't be involved with, she was very sad for a long time. You crushed her heart like a cigarette."

Jane was soundless for a moment, taking time to decide whether or not he wanted to open up more to Cho. He was pretty sure if Lisbon had told him about that night, then she probably mentioned the proposal and the fact he told her he loved her. He sighed and put down the file he was searching haphazardly through, turning to his old friend and frowning deeply.

"She turned down my proposal, Cho. I tried to explain my side of things, but she wouldn't listen." He could feel Cho becoming more uncomfortable as he dove further into the complicated relationship. "She commanded me to leave, and so I did."

Cho grunted, turning his head away from the pizza and meeting Jane's frown with one of his own. "She didn't say for you to leave her forever, did she? You decided that on your own. She may have pushed you away, but it was you who walked yourself miles and miles from her. You didn't even have the decency to say goodbye. If I were her, I'd be pissed, too."

"Tough crowd," Jane commented softly. He waited a beat, then, "I never meant to hurt her. I was only granting her wish."

"Maybe you read her wrong," Cho told him, setting his eyes back on the report he was reading. "You think you are so good at reading people—and, for the most part, you are. But when it comes to her, you are just as clueless as anyone." Cho sighed and sat back in his chair. "Being hungry makes me gabby." He shook his head. "You are losing your touch, Kimball," he whispered to himself. He looked to the pizza once again and shook his head slightly before returning to scanning the file.

Jane looked at Cho and nodded infinitesimally. "Maybe I did," he agreed.

There was an air of silence between them for a couple of minutes, only interrupted by the sound of Cho's cell going off. Cho sat the file down on the small hotel room desk and reached into his pocket, lifting the phone to his ear.

"Cho," he greeted. He was silent a few moments, allowing Jane time to scan the rest of the page he was looking at before raising his gaze. "Okay. And you are sure? Yes. Fine." Cho hung up his phone and looked at Jane. "The clothing came. They are testing it now. Wylie said it is priority, so it shouldn't be too long."

"Good," Jane replied, dipping his head back to the folder. "One thing still bothering me is those numbers on that card. I've seen them before. I can't exactly place them."

"Maybe you burned down your memory palace," Cho said without humor. "It's okay. Now you are level with the rest of us."

"Meh," Jane replied. "Nonsense. Something is blocking me." He shrugged. "It'll come to me."

Cho threw the folder down in disgust, pushing the file toward Jane. "This guy is sick. He will keep killing. Lisbon is determined not to let fear rule her, but you can see she's shaken. All those women look eerily like her." Cho thought for a minute. "I kind of wish she still dated that guy from the evidence room. He, at least, knows his way with a gun." Cho's eyes fell to Jane, his lips turning upward. "Not my business, of course, but doesn't make it any less true."

"Whoever is killing these women is a methodologist. He believes in sticking to routine. The problem with methodologists are they mess up some way or the other because they are focused on the method too closely. And Alex is a fine officer, I have no doubt," Jane started, nonchalantly picking up the folder Cho had just discarded, "however, there was no heat between them. There was..." he trailed off mid-thought, cocking his head and lifting his chin, "...neediness."

"I don't think I want to hear this," Cho said quickly. "Please don't talk about Lisbon's sex life."

"Lack of one, I believe," Jane clarified. "Not that there is anything wrong with that. I suspected as much from their friendly conversation. It was missing the fire that comes from a good, steady sexual relationship." He smiled at that, but the smile was wiped off his face almost as quickly. "The numbers..."

"I don't care how many times they didn't or did have sex, Jane," Cho told him. "I am going to drain your bank account when my therapy bills come in," he warned.

Jane reached down into the small pile of folders and picked up the one for Amy Milano. "No, not that! I remembered where I saw those numbers before." He opened the folder and picked the picture from the folder and held it up to Cho. "It's a badge number. When Lisbon took me to see the files for the first time, his badge caught the light. I remember the numbers because I've seen them on him."

"Lisbon is getting her necklace from evidence right now," Cho told him, reaching for his phone in his pocket.

"Wait!" Jane said, holding up a hand to halt Cho's movements. "Don't call anyone."

"Why?" asked Cho, surprise in his voice. "This is Lisbon we're talking about."

Jane nodded. "Yes, it is." Jane lowered his hand and shook his golden mane. "But it doesn't make sense."

"What are you talking about?"

"Think about it, Cho," Jane told him, reaching for another folder and opening it, his eyes scanning the folder quickly. It's too easy. Why would such a meticulous killer leave such a bold clue? Hmm."

"Oh, no! Not another hunch!" Cho replied, rolling his eyes as he lowered his hand from his jacket pocket. He knew that look on Jane's face anywhere. Too many years of hunches and theories.

"This hunch, if proven correctly, could actually crack this case. It was here all along! I was just reading the clues wrong."

* * *

Lisbon bit her lip nervously as she watched Alex back up away from her, giving her a few inches between their bodies. While Lisbon felt her knees quaking, Alex seemed nonplussed, casually drifting a smile across his face. She pushed a hand slowly down her side toward her holstered weapon, but flinched back when Alex pushed out a hand, clasping a hand around her cross necklace.

"You always had faith," he commented, gazing directly in her eyes. "I like that about you, Teresa. So full of faith."

Lisbon cleared her throat and attempted to turn herself toward the door. She felt his other hand come up to grip her by the shoulder, holding her in place. She felt Alex release her cross necklace; felt him chuckle in her face, his breath hitting her and chilling her to the bone.

"People know I am down here," Lisbon said defiantly, refusing to let her voice waver. "They will come looking."

He shrugged one shoulder. "Doesn't matter, Teresa," he told her, baby soft. "It's a risk I am willing to take." He slid his hand down from her necklace, guiding himself between her breasts, down past her navel, and around to her holstered weapon, where he unbuckled it and slid the Glock from its position. "You'll have no need for this."

He reached over and placed the service weapon on the counter, out of her reach. She felt her heart give a jolt; a sensation that rippled through her chest and into every nerve ending in her body. She knew she was pretty defenseless without her weapon…well, almost defenseless…

"You killed them," she whispered, low and slow. "You murdered those women."

"I did?" Alex arched an eyebrow. "Hmm. Well, isn't that something." He cocked his head at her and tightened his grip on her arm. "What tipped you off?"

"I always thought there was something off with you," Lisbon told him, anger overtaking her fear for a few minutes. "I just didn't realize it was because you are a scumbag, murdering innocent women."

He chuckled darkly. "You don't really know a lot, do you? I thought that psychic guy was supposed to be good at solving this kind of shit," he pressed out. "You want to know what your problem is?" He brought his free hand down to grasp her hip hard.

"I'm attracted to assholes?" She was nearly nauseous at the thought of dating this guy for a while.

"Possibly," Alex said in return. "Does Patrick Jane qualify as an asshole, Teresa? I would say so judging by what you've told me about him. He must have lost his touch at some point," he went on, squeezing her hip so hard she cried out in pain. "He's not as good as you've told me. Maybe you are blinded by your feelings for him, hmm?"

"Jealous much?"

"Who has you now?"

She lowered her gaze, catching a glimpse of his weapon in his holster. Her eyes darted back to his quickly, not wanting him to pick up on what she was thinking. She had training. She could easily reach her hand to his holster—his holster did not snap, but had an open area to easily retrieve his weapon. She could risk it. Otherwise, there was no way she was getting out of this room. It was even more obvious that nobody came down to the evidence room much. It was in the basement, away from any police. Because the building was so old, no cameras were placed down here, either. There would be nothing to alert anyone that she had been here.

"Why did those women die, Alex?" She was stalling, slowly bringing her arm down around his arm as he held her firmly. "I didn't think you were this kind of person."

"What kind is that?"

"A monster."

She stopped her movement as he leaned back away from her and smiled crookedly. "First one was planned. After that, they were all for you. The last one was unplanned, though. A casualty of war."

"What did they do? Refuse your advances?"

"Mine? No." He laughed.

"Your badge number," she said, nodding toward it as she began to move her hand toward his weapon again.

"What?"

"You asked me earlier how I was tipped off." She could feel her hand falling lower and lower toward his holster. "Your badge number was written on the back of a card on the last body we found."

She was caught off guard by his face changing. Almost a shocked look that immediately went into confusion and then anger. He controlled himself, hiding away those emotions under the hard, callous veneer from before. He cocked his head at her and nodded.

"Nice catch," he told her, though his voice sounded strained and distant. "My badge number."

She wasn't Jane. She knew there was something not right with Alex, but she couldn't put a finger on it. It was like she knew there was something going on, but it was hazy in her mind. She watched in horror as Alex's eyes shifted sideways, falling to her outstretched hand reaching for the weapon at his waist.

"No, no, no, Teresa," he said, releasing her hip and pulling her hand away roughly. "That's not nice. You were trained not to use another officer's weapon. That is cause for immediate suspension."

She cried out in pain when he twisted her arm away. She was still defiant despite the pain that was now coursing through her arm and up her shoulder blade. She reached up with her other hand and scratched his face with her nails, causing four distinct marks to form on his cheek, blood pulsing slowly from the fresh wounds and dripping on his uniform. She liked to think it was to distract him enough to get away, but she knew better. She knew why she did it. She did it because she knew when Jane and the team realized she was gone, he'd find the blood and figure it out. She knew he would. She was happy she got to tell Jane she was sorry, but now the regret of not telling him how much she missed him was beginning to seep into her heart.

She should have told him that she had been too harsh on him; that she understood, after five years—well, three, technically, but that night was erased from her mind for a long time—that she needed him. She always told herself it was five years, though it had been three, really, if she really wanted to count it, but she didn't. That memory was far too painful for her. But it was all entirely on her own conscience. That it was her fault he left her. Though she didn't want to admit it, it was the truth. He poured his heart to her as best as he could, but she shut him down because she failed to see that he could no longer be without her, and he'd do anything to have her, even if he knew she'd not like it.

"That wasn't nice, Teresa," Alex told her. He leaned in close to her, enough to whisper in her ear. "We have to go, now."

"Go where? If you are going to kill me, do it already."

" _I'm_ not going to kill you, Teresa," he assured her. "That's not my job."

Before she could ask what he meant by that, she felt a small prick in her neck. Within seconds, her vision began to swim, her mouth no longer seemed to work, and her eyes felt heavier and heavier. Finally, her eyes closed completely, and she felt herself dropping to the ground where darkness greeted her like an old friend.

* * *

 **A/N: I hope you enjoy. I am going to be wrapping this up in the next few chapters, and hopefully tie all questions and loose ends up, and get the clues revealed. I get to the mid-to-end of stories and I lose steam. Meh. But I hope that those who don't like Lisbon as a damsel in distress know that she won't be going down without her own fight. Stay tuned. I can't say I like this chapter, but it did turn out better than I thought. Pretty happy with it. /snorts.**

 **A/N #2: Jane isn't perfect. He makes mistakes sometimes, too... * grin *. Also, some of you expressed confusion that Lisbon calls it five years that she hasn't seen Jane, though she saw him on that night in the flashback, making it only three years, technically. I hope I've cleared that little bit up with her inner monologue about it.**


	12. Finding Lisbon

**Chapter 12 – Finding Lisbon**

* * *

Pain.

Besides the darkness behind her eyelids, Lisbon felt pain. It confused her; disorienting where exactly she was and why she was in pain.

She opened her eyes, feeling the searing pain in the back of her neck. She instinctively tried to stand, but she found that her body would not budge. Whatever had been administered into her neck made her paralyzed; not even her hands would move the way she wanted them to. She was not tied up, but that didn't seem like an advantage because a look around the room told her there was no escape. There were no windows to let in any decent light, though some sun broke through the slats of wood, which led her to believe she was in some kind of shed or old garage. She thought she could just make out a door on the other side of the room.

She heard a sound off to her right, and she found she could move her head, though the searing pain in her neck thumped harder when she did so. She could see someone speaking in low tones coming toward her, but she couldn't quite make out what exactly was being said between them. She could tell they were both males, one probably being Alex. She groaned and closed her eyes against the pain shooting in her neck and shoulders. She tried hard to move her lower body, willing her legs to bend; her arms were tingling, now, something she considered a good sign.

"You had to do it _now_?" she overheard one of the voices say. "You just couldn't _control_ yourself!"

"She was going to expose us!" the voice she partially recognized as Alex's said. "How did she get my fucking badge number, anyway?" There was a raising of the voices that mingled together and muffled the answer. Finally, the other voice was quiet, leaving Alex to continue. "You slipped it in, you slimy bastard."

She heard the voices rise once again, distorting and diminishing any hope she had of identifying the other person. Finally, she heard footfalls across the dirty floor, followed up the door on the other side of the room opening and closing with a loud bang. She fought against the tingling pain and found she was able to move her arms. She used the leverage to get herself into a sitting position, thankful that there was a wall behind her to help hold her up. She winced when she moved her neck; the pain once again seared in the back of her neck, spreading to her shoulder blades.

"I wouldn't do that, Teresa," Alex said from behind her. "It'll just be painful."

She tried to speak, to answer him, but she found her throat felt like cotton candy. Instead, she watched in silence as his shadow swung around and he knelt down to look her in the eyes. Through the minimal darkness of the room, she could see that his face was twisted into a sinister smile, his face close to hers.

He kept staring at her unblinkingly, moving only to push a dirty, sweaty strand of hair off her face and behind her ear. Finally, he shook his head and dropped the cold smile that had been like a stone across his face.

"It wasn't supposed to be this way," he explained softly. "It wasn't supposed to be this soon."

Teresa cleared her throat and opened her mouth to speak. It was garbled and thickness obstructed her tone, but she was able to say a few words.

"Why?"

Alex sighed. "Loaded question, Teresa. You have to understand; if this was my decision, I'd have given you more time to play the game. Sadly, it isn't my choice."

Lisbon coughed in dust and dirt. "Whose is it?"

"Ah," Alex said, rising to his feet, "that's later. For now, you need to come with me." He rose to his feet and bent to pull her by the elbow, raising her to her feet.

"Where?"

"Shower," he told her with another sinister smile. "Then we have to get you dressed, Teresa."

She gasped. She wasn't stupid; she knew exactly what he meant by getting her dressed. If Jane didn't figure out what was going on—and soon—she'd be the next body in the culverts… and the next doll in evidence.

* * *

Cho, Jane, and Abbott watched as the techs took inventory of the evidence room, watching as they bagged and tagged items, and the lab crew swab the blood spot on the floor. It wasn't necessary, as Jane knew it belonged to Lisbon. His survey of the scene didn't yield much; it was fairly clean, with just the blood and some of Lisbon's hair on the floor, along with a syringe tip that had broken off and had fallen behind the evidence counter.

"We should have called it in. Gotten here earlier," Cho told Jane, shaking his head. "We might have gotten to her!"

"He's too smart for that," Jane told him offhandedly, lost in his own thoughts. "He would have been gone long before we got here." His eyes swept the room once more before they locked onto Cho's. "This wasn't planned. Lisbon must have figured out the badge. There is no way he could have done this himself. Not from here to the parking garage. Someone had to have helped him."

"You think he's got an accomplice?"

Jane nodded. "He's obsessive; I first noticed it when I came down here with Teresa the first time. I suspect he has little narcissistic tendencies, too. I suspect that is why Lisbon called their relationship quits. He reminded her of me, and she didn't want that."

"That's why you wanted to go back to their apartments," Cho said, the lightbulb going off in his head. "You thought someone else was going through their closets. You suspected there were two or more people involved the whole time."

He smiled meekly, though he didn't feel up to it. "Yeah. I wasn't a hundred percent sure, but I am now. One person to kidnap and murder, the second to place dolls in the mail or on Lisbon's doorstep and clean up after the killings. Lessens the likelihood of getting caught, and the area in which the bodies were placed required two people. The culvert was much too deep for one person to move the bodies themselves."

"This doesn't tell us where Lisbon is," Abbott pointed out. "We have a missing agent on our hands. Unless you can figure out by deduction in that creepy mind of yours," he said to Jane, "we need to move. Now. Talk to the media. Get Lisbon's photo out there, along with Officer Alex Whiteman."

"You do that and you may as well place Teresa in that culvert yourself," Jane told him, shaking his head vigorously. "We have to go about this easily. We don't know who the second guy is. He could be one of these lab techs, for all we know." Jane ignored the looks coming from the techs swabbing the blood droplets.

"So what do you suggest we do?"

"I think if you get the lab report back on those clothes, you will find the second person. You find him, you find Lisbon." Jane looked Cho and Abbott dead in their eyes. "We have to find her. There is no other option."

They said nothing at that. They knew how he was feeling. "I know you don't want to steer this conversation in this direction," Abbott told him, "but the ME put the time of death six hours from the last time they were seen alive. If we are going to move, it has to be now."

"Aren't you just the bearer of good news," Jane told him roughly. "We need that lab report, Dennis. It's the key."

"I'll call up to Wylie and have him put a rush on it, okay?" Cho told him. "We'll find her, Jane. We will. She'll kick their ass before she lets anything happen to herself."

Jane nodded slowly. "Good idea. Tell them it is a matter of life or death. We have to have those results, and fast."

* * *

He led her to the small bathroom off the room she woke up in. He shoved her hard inside, causing her to stumble and hold onto the sink for support. She heard the door slam shut behind her, followed by the sound of a heavy tumbler lock into place. She turned around quickly, paying for it when extreme vertigo and the pain in her neck made her sink to her knees on the hard tiled floor.

"I don't hear the water running in there!" Alex shouted from his post right outside. "If I don't hear the water, I will come in there and _make_ you shower," he threatened. "We're on a schedule."

Lisbon placed her palms on the tile in an attempt to stop her head from spinning around and around. She managed to find her bearings long enough to crawl to the side of the old tub, reaching her hand toward the faucet. She turned the knob, listening as water surged through the old copper pipes and sprayed out from the shower head above her. She retracted her arm and turned herself to sit along the side of the tub, her Irish eyes trying to find anything in the room that could help her. It was lit in a pale glow, the ceiling light flickering and illuminating the room just enough for her to see. Unfortunately, there wasn't much in the bathroom. No windows, no other doors, not even a mirror. They've thought of everything. Nothing could be made into a makeshift weapon. Just an old plunger with a wooden handle behind the commode.

"I am really sorry about this, Teresa," Alex told her through the door. "I really did love you once."

"You wouldn't be doing this if you did," she told him bluntly, lifting herself slowly to a standing position. "You were hurt when I broke it off," she added. "You resented that." She felt her throat thicken as she realized she was stuck in the room with no real way out. "Is that why you started going after women that resembled me?"

"That wasn't my choice," he told her. "I didn't pick them."

Didn't he pick them? What did that mean? She decided to bypass that question. She wanted to keep him talking.

"Did you kill them, Alex?"

He was silent for a moment. She almost thought he had left. Finally, he answered her with a, "No. I'm the collector."

She sighed in quiet relief. There was time for her to figure out how she was going to get out of this. She had faith in Jane; that he would figure it out and come to her rescue, but in being realistic, she realized the clues they had were slim. At most, he might be able to crack the badge number. But, just as her sigh of relief had come, it had gone with the knowledge that there was a second person involved, and they were the ones that ended the other women's life—that would end _her_ life.

"Who is he, Alex?" she asked, moving closer to the door. "Who is killing these women?" When she got no answer, she pressed further. "This isn't you, Alex. When we were dating, you were a great, gentle guy. This isn't you. Someone is brainwashing you into doing these things."

There was a sudden change in Alex; not in his voice, for he did not speak. Instead, he took his foot and kicked the door once, twice, three times. She flinched away from the door, falling away from it and backing up between the sink and toilet. Her leg hit something hard, but she paid no attention to it.

"That's enough!" he yelled. "Take your shower and shut up, or I will come in there and scrub you clean myself!"

She was confused at his sudden shift in demeanor, but if it was one thing Jane had taught her in the years they had been working together, it was that even the smallest of things often meant something bigger. What could his change in attitude mean? She willed herself to see between the lines, but she couldn't. At least, not while she had to think of a way to escape. She could try to lure Alex into the bathroom and steal his weapon, but she was taking a risk; the bathroom was small and so was she. He'd overpower her easily enough.

She looked around the bathroom once more, walking into the middle of the room and looking around for something—anything—she might have missed before. She hadn't missed a thing, she found grimly. There was no way out. Her eyes fell in defeat to the tiles on the floor. Something caught her eye in the shiny reflection. Raising her eyes once again, she spied something she might be able to use, after all. She walked over and picked up the plunger with a wooden handle. Maybe this might just be her salvation.

* * *

Wylie put down the phone, making sure it was securely on the receiver. He turned in his chair, got up, and walked over to Jane, who was sitting on his couch, his finger tap-tap-tapping away on his lips nervously.

"Jane," Wylie started, watching as Jane put his fingers down and looked at him intently. "The lab report is in. Well, the prelim, anyway."

"And?" Jane asked, rolling his fingers in the air impatiently.

"They found a few things on the clothing," Wylie said. "Hemlock leaves, organisms from standing water, a hair…" he trailed off.

"The standing water is from the culvert," Jane told him. "Hemlock leaves only grow in certain parts, don't they?"

"Yes," Wylie confirmed. "That's not all they found, Jane."

"Hm?"

"They found traces of fiber on one of the items of clothing. Something that didn't fit any of the textiles in her closet." Wylie sighed. "It's tweed."

"As in dressed-to-the-nines lawyer's tweed suits?" Jane asked, rising to his feet.

"The very same," confirmed Wylie. "That's not all. The hair they pulled from the blouse? It's synthetic. It belongs to one of the dolls, Jane."

* * *

 **A/N: Quick filler chapter. Enjoy. The next two chapters will be broken into Part 1 and Part 2 finales. I've been working on this for about a month, and it was extremely difficult to write for some odd reason. I felt I had to just finish it and kick it loose before I lost my mind. Thanks!**


	13. Time Is Running Out

**Chapter 13 – Time Is Running Out**

 **XX**

 **A/N: This is the penultimate chapter, and it goes back and forth a bit. Hopefully, I close most of the loopholes I have created. Sorry for the delay on this story, but my others have been more easy on my muse. Not my best fic, but not my worst! Enjoyed this entertaining tale for a while! Enjoy.**

* * *

Lisbon pushed herself forward, turning on the faucet to stifle the sound of what she was about to do. She launched her dominant foot forward, kicking at the wooden handle of the plunger, snapping it in two equal pieces, leaving one with a sharp pointed end. If being a detective taught her anything, it was to fight back with whatever was available. She learned that many times in the cases she had come across in her career—from domestic incidents as a cop at Sac PD, to murders where the victims fought for their lives at the CBI.

She stilled her movement for a moment, turning to face the door, hoping for the best, but preparing for the worst. She wasn't sure the sound of water running from the shower and faucet were sufficient in covering the loud crack of the wooden handle. When Alex didn't burst through the door at her, she assumed he hadn't and exhaled deeply.

Looking down at her makeshift weapon, she felt a sudden drop in her stomach. It was no match for Alex if she couldn't surprise him. The broken wooden handle could most certainly do damage if inflicted, but she wasn't sure how exactly to save her own skin without him noticing first, giving him an advantage. This where Jane would tell her to use her brain.

 _Jane_.

Her stomach dropped even lower. The weapon she was staring at would be the deciding factor whether or not she would see him again and put whatever the hell happened those years ago behind them. There was so much she wanted to say…so much she hadn't. Determination suddenly picked her stomach back up and she was resolute, now.

"Hurry up!" she heard Alex yell from the other side of the door. "I will be in there in two minutes. We have a schedule to keep."

She was worried that if she did not answer, he'd come in unannounced and catch her off guard. "Okay," she answered, trying to sound convincing.

She walked over to the shower and pulled the curtain back, stepping inside and letting the water cascade all over her, drenching her clothing and making them weigh her down as she held the broken handle in her hand. She was strangely reminded of the old movie she watched as a child, _Psycho_. She shuddered abruptly. She reached a shaking hand out and closed the curtain again.

 _One Mississippi._

 _Two Mississippi._

 _Three Mississippi_.

It seemed like forever under that cascade of water, counting Mississippi's, before she heard the door open, and Alex's heavy boots step inside the dirty, dingy bathroom.

* * *

"He hasn't been to his office since Lisbon and Abbott went to see him," Cho stated, hanging up the phone and shaking his head. "Lane Wolf is in the wind."

Abbott sighed deeply, crossing his arms in thought. "So, Wolf and Alex are somehow working together," he deduced. "Jane's idea that someone had to have left evidence at one of the crime scenes panned out, and it was tweed."

Cho nodded. "Just like Wolf's clothing. They're a tandem," he said, sitting back in his chair. "The two of them are working together, killing these women."

"Only one is killing the women," Jane corrected from his spot at Wylie's desk. They were looking at a map of somewhere intently. "The other cleans up the tracks and plants the dolls."

"What are you doing?" Abbott asked, walking over to Wylie's desk and looking over their shoulders. "Trying to pinpoint Hemlock?"

"We already have," Jane told him, pointing to the screen. "Bogart County. There is a nature preserve about ten miles from here. They grow Hemlock trees. They give cooling shade up there."

"But they wouldn't take Lisbon to a nature preserve, Jane," Cho piped in.

"No," Jane agreed solemnly. "But there are a few old cabins just behind the preserve that was used in the 80's for caretakers to live in. They've since been abandoned."

"You think they took her there?"

"Hemlock leaves, Dennis," Jane said in irritation, his eyes flashing as he looked up at his boss. "What do _you_ think?"

"I'm not the enemy, Jane," Dennis replied. "We need to call Bogart County, have them send officers up there to check it out."

"No," Jane said, whirling around to his boss. "You want to get her killed?" His voice was hard as nails. "You can't risk sending in police. We don't know what's going on there, and we don't want to risk Lisbon."

"So what would you have me do? She's my agent, Jane. She's in danger."

"Let me go alone," he replied, almost pleadingly. "Let me bring her back."

"And if you don't?" Dennis Abbott's eyebrow went up.

"It's not an option. If there is no her, there is no me." He did not venture further into what he meant. The two men held each other's gaze, one answering the other's question silently.

Abbott sighed and uncrossed his arms. "Okay," he said. "But you don't even know how to approach it. You're not a cop."

"I don't have to be one to think like one," he assured him. "I'm losing time."

"This is a bad idea," Cho said from behind them.

"It doesn't matter," Dennis said. "He's going to go whether I say yes or not."

"I am."

"There is two of them, Jane," Dennis reminded him. "You can't just go there and pick your poison…"

"I have an idea," he said, turning on his heels and heading for the elevator. "I'll call you if I need you, okay?"

Wylie, Abbott, and Cho watched him disappear into the elevator a moment later.

"I hope he knows what he's doing," Wylie said, speaking for the first time in a while.

"He's good at what he does," Cho replied. "I just hope he's good enough."

* * *

She held up the makeshift weapon, the warm water dripping off her hands and face, obscuring her view. She heard him whistle as he neared the tub, but his footfalls stopped just short. She wasn't quite sure why he had suddenly stopped, but she gripped the wood spear tighter in her hands.

She could see his shadow in the dark of the curtain, and she realized that he was giving her extra time; if it wasn't such a dire situation, she might have felt empathy for what she was about to do next.

"Okay," Alex said, reaching up and pushing the curtain over slowly. "Times up!"

It was as the curtain pulled to reveal her that she lunged at him, catching him by surprise and plunging the sharp point of the wood handle into his stomach. She heard him grunt in surprise and pain, reeling back away from her as he tried to pry the weapon from his body.

Lisbon didn't hesitate; she hopped out of the shower, leaving a trail of water behind her as she ran from the bathroom, closing the door behind her and locking it tight before scampering through a small hallway. She wasn't sure how to get out of the place, but she kept to the right side of the wall, hugging the shadows. She passed doors that were closed and noticed just in front of her a door that had sunshine seeping in from the cracks.

"Oh, thank God," she whispered, walking toward the welcomed sight.

Before she could step any further, however, a looming silhouette danced across her path, closing off the oh-so-welcoming sun. She nearly fell to her knees in horror.

"Where do you think you're going?" a voice—the one from before when Alex was talking with someone—said. "I can't let you leave," he said. "He wouldn't like that."

She looked up into the shadows and saw, for the first time, that Lane Wolf was looking at her casually. She should have been paying more attention to his hands…

With one swift, firm swing, Teresa Lisbon felt herself fall to her knees, her face hit the dirty, threadbare floor, and blackness encircle her eyelids. The last thing she saw before she succumbed was Wolf dropping the dirty shovel onto the floor and leaning over her.

Then blackness all around.

* * *

Jane drove to the edge of the nature preserve, his eyes scanning for any movement from either side, which was lined with long, ancient trees whose limbs twisted and tangled like arms into the sky. He placed the car in park, turning off the ignition and stepping out. He didn't want to drive any further, fearing that they might hear the noise from his car. He wasn't quite sure where they were, and he could take no risks.

He left his car behind him and started walking on foot through the dense line of trees, some of which were twisted close to the path and he had to avoid. He wasn't sure exactly how long he had walked, but it was long enough that the sun had begun to drop in the sky, pushing him in nearly dark.

Wylie had pinpointed the cabins just behind these long line of trees, the front of which faced the opposite direction. He sped his pace up and forged on a few more minutes before he finally came upon the back of the cabins. He noticed that there were very little trees around, but there were several Hemlocks to the right of the cabin. He was about to move closer when the back door of the cabin flew open. He quickly side-stepped, hiding behind a big tree as he watched Lane Wolf.

Lane's appearance wasn't what caught his attention, though; it was the fact that Lisbon was straddled across his shoulder, and he was carrying her into the thicket of trees that lined the right side. Jane's heart dropped. In his other hand, Wolf held a dirty shovel, and, most horrific of all, there was a gun in his back waistband,

"No, no, _no_ ," he whispered desperately. "You can't have her."

He stepped out into the clearing of trees and followed them, his need to hide his location gone. He could hear Wolf ahead of him, grunting with exertion at the load of Lisbon on his shoulder. He kept up with Wolf clear until they came to a smaller clearing in the woods, just behind the second row of thick trees. Jane watched as Wolf laid Lisbon's unconscious body onto the ground like she was trash.

Jane didn't immediately announce himself; first, he took inventory of Lisbon's health: she had a gaping wound that was still bleeding on her head, and her face was turning a dark shade of blue. The second thing he did was survey what was going on.

In front of Wolf, there was a small mound of dirt, piled high and clearly disturbed recently. His eyes fell below to a shallow grave, and his heart sped up, his blood almost freezing in his veins at the sight. He was going to bury her alive…or maybe kill her first before he shoved her in that grave.

He couldn't let that happen. He moved out from the tree, and if he really wanted to be stealthy, which he didn't, the chance was gone when he stepped on a twig, snapping it in half. Wolf turned around, facing him, his hand automatically moving to his back waistband and pulling out the gun.

"This is a .38 special," Wolf told him, pointing the weapon at his chest. "You really don't want to step closer."

Jane put his hands up in defense and shook his head. "You don't have to do this, Lane," he told him. "You can tell everyone the truth. Nobody would doubt you." He was buying time to think of a plan. A plan he didn't even know if he could produce.

"Yes, they would," he countered. "They wouldn't believe me!"

"Which part, Lane? Is that Alex your son? That you are cleaning up his mess? He's sick, Lane. Don't you want to help him?" Jane was grasping at straws, but he thought he could see the hesitation in the man's eyes.

"How do you know he's my son?" Lane asked.

"Same facial features," Jane told him. "I suspected as much. He brings the women he abducts back here, doesn't he? I would say, judging by the impromptu weapon," he nodded at the shovel, "that you usually are the cleaner, and he's more the killer."

Lane shook his head, but he did not lower the weapon. "He's sick. He's not in his right mind!"

"And that is why you need to get him help, Lane," Jane said gently. "You don't have to be his pawn."

"I killed some of those women," Lane confessed. "I didn't know what else to do! They saw him! They saw my boy!"

"Why Lisbon?" Jane asked, his eyes falling to his hapless partner on the floor. He took it as a good sign she was moaning slightly, now. "Why her?"

"Because she started his sickness!" Lane roared, holding the gun higher. "She couldn't just stay with him. She had to break things off. It messed him up! It made him a monster!" He tried to calm himself. "It made me a monster, too."

Now the pieces were starting to fit together better. Alex couldn't accept rejection when Lisbon dumped him. Like any good psychopathic individual, the women he interacted with after were compared to her, and, ultimately, his rage became too much. This explains why the women looked uncannily like Lisbon. This also explains why he was so hard to catch; he was all ears about the case in that small, sheltered evidence room.

The dolls, Jane suspected, were a representation of himself; of how sly he thought he was. A visual representation to Lisbon, particularly, that she was responsible for their deaths. The names barred on each doll the name of a victim he blamed Lisbon for. It also explained how he was able to get inside Lisbon's house. He knew where she kept a spare key, most assuredly, or even had one from the time they dated each other. Either way, it was clear: Lane Wolf was protecting his son the entire time by disposing of his son's misdeeds, and he could tell that Lane's hatred for Lisbon seeped out of him for what he felt she had done to both his son and himself.

"This isn't your normal method," said Jane, lowering his hands to his sides. "You don't dispose of them like this."

"They already know Alex kidnapped her," he said. "They will connect him to the others if I…" He trailed off. "It doesn't matter!" he roared. "She has to die!"

Lane slid the gun over to Lisbon and aimed it at her stomach. Jane felt himself launch forward, his face a mix of horror and determination.

"NO!" Jane yelled. "SHOOT ME! KILL ME!" He was falling, falling… "TAKE ME." He fell to his knees in a begging pose.

Two things happened simultaneously: first, there was a shout from a short distance behind Jane, and, second, there were two shots fired in succession.

One hit Wolf square in his chest, and he dropped the gun and slumped down to his knees before falling forward and sprawling out on the dirt path.

The second shot, as Jane scrambled on his knees and hovered over Lisbon, had been fired into her stomach, and blood was pooling from beneath her.

"No, no," he cried out to her, rushing to remove his jacket to use as a stopper on her gunshot wound. He looked in her face and brushed a strand of brown hair from her bloody head. "No," he said firmly. "You can't go, Teresa. You can't go. I haven't made up for all the years I didn't pick up the phone and say I am sorry." He noticed she was going white, her lips turning a shade of light blue. "NO! Stay awake! Don't fall asleep!"

From behind him, he could hear someone running up along the clearing. Without looking up, he could tell who it was already.

"Ambulance is ten minutes out, Jane," Cho told him, holstering his weapon before kicking Wolf's away from the dead man. He knelt down next to Jane. "There's another dead body in the cabin. Keep the pressure on the wound, okay? I have a medical kit in the car. I'll be back."

And he was gone.

"It's going to be okay, Teresa," Jane whispered. "It's going to be okay. I'm here."

He almost laughed in relief when she moaned. He bent down to kiss her forehead.

"Good girl," he told her as he held her head in his hand. "Good girl."


	14. Pushing Buttons - Ending

**Chapter 14 – Pushing Buttons [Ending]**

 **XX**

 **A/N: This is the final chapter. It is the epilogue as well. It has M rated content in it, but it is marked between **. If you wish to bypass it (but why?!), you can do so and it won't affect the story. The end is fluff, so I hope you love it. Thanks so much for all the reviews and support. It means a lot. I am happy this fic is finished, but also strangely sad. Thank you so much for everything. Please let me know how you liked the story as a whole if you haven't already.**

* * *

The constant drone of beeping was driving her nuts. Besides the incessant blaring of the monitor next to her that indicated her vital signs, the aching pain on her head and lower, at the base of her belly, was threatening to make her sign herself out of the hospital, even if it was against the wishes of both her doctor and Jane.

Speaking of Jane, she felt the warmth of his hand in hers, his body slumped in the uncomfortable visitor chairs sat next to her bed. The corners of her mouth twitched, but she frowned when pain shot up the right side of her face; it was still black and blue and a little swollen, but the lump had gone down considerably in the week she had been rushed here to Bogart County General.

As she stared at the sleeping form of Jane, she could remember just little increments in her memory: Cho dressing her wounds as she moaned in pain, the ambulance opening up for her gurney as Jane protested to the EMT worker who had suggested he ride with Cho, and, most clearly, she remembered the sick, worried expression that crossed Jane's face as they took her to surgery. Cho would later tell her that the doctor had told Jane and himself that she may not pull through; the gunshot had ruptured her spleen and upper intestine, and time was of the essence.

The last thing she recalled was waking up hours later, the pain so great that she nearly passed out again. She had looked to her right, her blurry vision focusing on something familiar. The familiar object was moving toward her, and then she felt the unexpected feeling of a warm hand in hers. She squeezed his fingers, her body too tired and ravaged to speak.

"You're okay, Teresa," Jane had reassured her. "You're in the hospital. Please don't try to move."

She had squeezed his fingers again, letting him know she heard him. She felt him reach up gently to brush a hand over her forehead softly.

"I thought I had lost you," he whispered, soft as cotton. "I thought my world was going to crumble."

She had gasped out in pain, and Jane's hand had swiftly vacated hers. She could hear his footfalls as he'd bounded across the room and called out for the nurse. A second later, a woman with bountiful brown hair and a gentle face came to loom over her, adjusting an IV bag on a pole next to her.

"It's all right, dear," the gentle-faced nurse had said. "I've seen to your morphine drip. Once you are out of here, It'll be pills. How are you feeling?" Lisbon could only moan, and the nurse's gaze had turned to Jane. "She'll be in pain for a while. Just try not to get her excited. I'll be along in a few hours."

Then Jane had placed his hand back in hers. That was what she recalled before the morphine had lulled her into a tolerable sleep. Now, days later, her pain was stabilized, and she was wide awake, her gaze still on the sleeping Jane. Lisbon lifted herself carefully, as to not disturb the wires coming from her in various places, to a sitting position. She immediately regretted doing that, because she pulled something. Looking down, she saw a drainage tube coming from her gunshot wound.

"What are you doing, Teresa?" Jane's voice asked, startling her. "You should be sleeping."

Lisbon's face turned downward into a sulk. "Don't baby me."

Jane's face quirked up at the corners. "I'm sorry."

She looked over at him, now. He was sitting on the edge of the chair now, the thumb of his hand caressing the skin of hers. She relished the warmth of his touch, but pulled her hand from his anyway.

"What happened?" she asked, pulling the covers up to her chest.

Jane's face turned bitterly sour. "Lane Wolf shot you in the stomach," he told her. "Hit you in the head with a shovel before that."

She gasped, and Jane lifted himself once again from the chair, thinking her pain was back.

"Jane," she whispered, her green eyes wide with fear. "Is he dead?"

"Lane Wolf was killed by Cho," Jane reached his other hand to caress her hair that fell at her shoulder. "He saved you… _us_ ," he amended.

"Not him. Alex," she said. "Is he dead?"

Jane's face took on confusion, but he nodded his head at her. "Yes. He's dead, Teresa. He bled out, struck an artery."

She closed her eyes and exhaled before reopening them and shaking her head. "I can't believe you found me, Jane. I didn't think I'd see you again. Somehow, I knew you'd find me."

He smiled at her. "Of course I would, Teresa," he said.

"You tried to hypnotize the EMT worker to let you in the ambulance," she recalled, a small laugh escaping her lips.

He shrugged. "The coup de grace of my skills." He hesitated, eyeing her as if he were trying to decide if he should say what he wanted to say next. "I don't know if this appropriate timing, Teresa, but I wanted to say this before I have to go back to Oregon."

She looked at him so fast that she cried out in pain. "Oregon? You're going back?"

He sighed and mashed his lips together. "The Director called yesterday. He's upset that I didn't actually go back to Oregon like he asked. He's none too happy with any of us."

She looked disappointed. "Okay."

He sighed again. "Before I go back, Teresa, I wanted to talk about that night with you. I know you've been avoiding the subject, but I can't leave here knowing I didn't try to explain or apologize."

"It doesn't matter," she replied. "When you leave for Oregon, it will go back to the way it was before. Maybe it's better you say nothing at all."

"Better for who?" It came off more sharply than he intended. Softer, "Please let me do this, Teresa."

She pulled her hand from his. "If this is some lame excuse…"

"It is not an excuse," he assured her. "I was wrong to spring something on you like that, Teresa. Sneaking into your house, proposing to you. It was all so fast. I didn't want that."

"Didn't want what?"

"To hurt you. To make you feel as if everything revolved around me." He sighed and sat back in his chair. "I did things in the wrong order, and for that, I am truly sorry, Teresa." He tentatively reached out for her hand again.

She was silent for a moment, then, "Why did you ask me to marry you if you knew the choice was mine to help you or not? Were you serious about it?"

"That was a regrettable timing error, Teresa." That was all he said.

She frowned. "So that's a no?"

He dipped his head. "I didn't say that. I said the time was wrong."

She looked away from him. "When are you leaving?" She looked back when he did not answer. "That soon, huh?"

"Tonight."

She didn't know why she was trying to hold back tears. Wait, she did, actually. She loved him. She loved him the night he came to her place and asked her to marry him, but she was too angry at his reasons to let it affect her reaction. She thought that if she pulled out of what happened to her, there would be a chance or some reconciliation. Some kind of truce that would allow them to work together once again. She could see, however, that nothing changed.

"That's soon," was all she could muster.

The next thing she felt was Jane's fingers guiding her chin back to look at him, his body looming over hers. "I don't have to do a damn thing the director says if you don't want me to," he whispered. "I'd go to jail if that is what you want me to do, Teresa. Don't you see?"

She shook her head slightly. "See what?"

"I love you," he replied with a smile. "I came back for you, Teresa. Twice, in fact. Once when you pushed me away to Oregon, and this time. When you needed my help. It's always been about you, even if you didn't see it."

"The years apart!? You think that was about me, too?" She was upset. She loved him, too, but the words were much easier thought than said for her.

"I regret not picking up the phone, Teresa. Heaven knows I tried! When I got the phone up to my ear, all I could see was the hurt on your face the last time I saw you. I thought it would be better if I didn't remind you of how selfish I was."

"That was selfish of you," she replied. "Didn't you think I may have wanted to hear your voice again? We had years together, Jane. That should have counted for something." Her voice had gone hoarse. "I didn't call you because I didn't want to push us further apart. I guess that was inevitable, anyway." Her tone was sad.

"Now you know why I didn't call you, Teresa," he said, dropping his hand from her chin. "Looks like we are two feathers from the same bird."

"How did we end up here, Jane?" She shook her head. "How did things become so…fucked up?" It was one of only a handful of times Jane heard her curse. It reflected in his eyes.

"They don't have to be," he whispered. "We could be happy. If you'd only allow me to say I am sorry for what I did, I think we could move past it. I love you, Teresa, and I am pretty damn sure you love me. The only thing holding us back is resentment." He waited a moment before continuing, watching her gaze at him. "All is fair in love and war. We've got both."

She didn't get to answer. The nurse came in to change her morphine, and after that, Cho and the gang had come to see Lisbon, and Jane had slipped out to let her have time with them. He decided to go down to the gift shop and get her some flowers, but he ended up sitting in the small café, sipping on tea and thinking about their conversation.

It seemed there was still issues between them. He wasn't sure if they'd get past them or not, and he was quite positive that even if they did, there would be some lingering doubts between them. But what did that matter? There had always been problems between them. The difference, this time, was that their feelings were deeper; it was romantic love, not friendship.

This time, he didn't feel like running from his feelings or from the hurt. He didn't want another five, ten, fifteen years to pass between them. It wasn't a cycle. He wouldn't allow it to become a cycle.

He set his cup of tea down on the table and pulled his phone from his pocket. Dialing a familiar number, he waited for the equally familiar voice to answer.

"Director," Jane said. "I was wondering if I could have a word with you. It's about going back to Oregon. Sure. Okay, thanks." He hung up the phone, replaced it in his pocket, and picked his tea back up, sipping it casually.

He was going to change things, this time. No more running. No more avoiding. He almost lost her for the second time, permanently. He wouldn't allow himself to lose her again.

All's fair in love and war.

* * *

Lisbon got out of the hospital two weeks later. The sun was starting to set, casting an orange glow into the room from the window. The ride back had been silent and swirling in unmentioned thoughts. A few times, Jane had glanced over to see Lisbon look at him, only to turn her head quickly when she saw him staring at her. He had asked her once if her pain was back (because she was so silent), and she shook her head but did not speak. She did not even protest when he emphatically stated that he'd help her get ready for bed since it was nearly impossible for her to do it herself. He set her morphine pills, clean bandages, and ointment on the table beside him.

During her stay in the hospital—at times, touch and go—they talked at length about what happened on that nature preserve, and of what happened between them five years prior, though that was kept to a minimum. Mostly, they spent the time just in each other's company, something Jane didn't think would ever happen again. Their conversation about that night hadn't been brought up, either. Something Jane found frustrating, but did not push.

"You didn't say if you got anything out of Alex," he said, taking her hand and helping her to sit on the edge of the bed. "You haven't spoken much about the incident."

He let go of her hand and reached over to the table for a clean bandage and some ointment the hospital had given for her stomach wound and head wound. Her head had gone down in swelling, and now was just hazy blacks and blues in spots.

"Nothing useful," she told him. "He didn't really say much, Jane."

"Lie back, Teresa," he told her, taking off and throwing her jacket on the chair next to the bed and pushing gently on her shoulder so her body fell back on the bed. "Surprise, surprise."

He bent down over her and set the bandage and ointment aside, bringing his fingers up to unbutton her jeans with his fingers and undoing the zipper. Lisbon didn't say anything further, she just put her hands over her ribs and watched him look at her as he rolled her waist hem down past the bloodied old bandage. He pulled gently, but the bandage pulled away easily from the sweat of her body.

"The skin around the stitches are a bit red," he noted, opening the packet of ointment and brushing some delicately on her wound. "Are you sure you are not in pain?"

He attached a clean bandage to her skin, allowing his fingers to linger. When she didn't react to that touch, he stood, turned to throw away the papers and packet in the waste can and turned back to her. She never ignored his fingertips gliding over her skin before. He knew for sure something was wrong, then. He wouldn't allow her to do this. Sulking in silence; he wouldn't let her shut him out like this. He didn't know exactly what was wrong, but he couldn't fix it if he didn't know what to fix in the first place.

"What's wrong, Teresa?" he asked her softly. "What did I do?"

He held up his hands palm-side facing the ceiling and sighed. He crossed them after a moment and waited for her reply.

She sat up and placed her hands above her knees, trapping her lip in her teeth. Jane knew that something was bothering her for sure, then. It was a calming mechanism that she liked to use. Jane stood still, his face trying to read her features.

"Cho told me you begged him to shoot you," Lisbon whispered, her eyes falling to her hands on her knees. "Instead of me. That was so stupid, Jane. It was incredibly stupid."

Jane sighed heavily and came to sit beside her on the edge of the bed. He supposed he couldn't blame Cho. He did save her life after all. He reached up and pulled her chin so she had to look at him.

"I'm not sorry for saying that, Teresa," he stated. "I would have done it in a heartbeat. If that is wrong, so be it. I rather you be mad at me for a lifetime instead of being absent from mine." Honesty was the best policy, and he did promise her to hash things out between them.

"I said it was stupid, not that I am mad…" she trailed off.

"You think I only said that because you were distressed," he guessed. "I would say that is an absurd train of thought. One I will chalk up to your condition. Especially since we discussed my poor timing of things at length before."

He wanted her to see the genuine look in his own eyes. He wanted to assure her that what he was saying to her was one-hundred percent the truth. He didn't mind that she was curious; he minded that she was so bothered by it. It hurt him to see her hurt. What reflected in her face was insecurity. He suspected her silence was more Lisbon trying to put her own feelings down than being angry with him.

"I'm not sorry," he repeated, his voice merely a whisper now. "Not for this, anyway. I am, however, sorry for never calling you, Teresa. For never explaining that I never intended for you to upend everything for me when I came back." He felt he could safely approach the subject again.

Lisbon was silent at first, taking in his sincerity. He could tell that she wasn't entirely satisfied with his apology, but he felt it lessened the hurt in her eyes. He felt her exhale of breath hit his face; a deep, resounding sigh that was either in relief or in sheer disappointment. If it was the latter, he deserved it.

"Please don't be upset, Teresa," he pleaded, taking his hand from her chin and bringing it up to trace the frown lacing her lips. "I don't like seeing you unhappy. I promise you that it was regrettable, and it was so long ago. My words were true then, and they are true now. I love you, Teresa, and I would always put your happiness, safety, and feelings first."

"I know," she said slowly, reaching up to grab his wrist with one of her hands. "It's not fair for me to feel this way, but I can't help it. I'm not exactly okay with it, no matter how long ago it was."

He didn't blame her for feeling this way. He had sprung the marriage proposal on her at the wrong time. He had also made her choose, even if he told her she didn't have to. He had known she'd choose him. He knew she'd come work for the FBI just so he'd be able to be a free man.

"I would have gone to prison for you," Jane told her, dropping his hand from her lips and shaking his head slightly. "Just seeing you that night was enough to placate me. I never wanted you to do something you never wanted to do."

"You know how to make me," Lisbon said darkly.

He laughed now. He couldn't help it.

"It's not funny," she told him, but there was a slight hint of humor.

"I don't want you to ever feel like you have to do anything for me, Teresa," he told her, serious now. "You don't have to worry that I am going to leave you because of your choices."

"I'm not—" she started. Her hand fell from his wrist and slid back into her lap.

"Yes, you are," Jane interrupted her, standing, walking a few feet away and turning back to her. "And that's normal! It _is_!" Jane interrupted her, standing, walking a few feet away and turning back to her. "But I never asked you to choose me over anything else, Teresa. You did that on your own. Because you love me."

She turned her head away from him, knowing he had caught on to her twinge of resentment that plagued her. He could tell she felt embarrassed at her actions; something she knew she was bad at hiding from him.

"What I told you before is the absolute truth," he promised her, watching as her gaze fell back to him. "No more lying, tricking, manipulating … whatever else it is that I have done wrong with you. I want you to be happy, Teresa. God, if there is one, knows that I would walk through hell for you. I don't expect the same from you. You've already done enough for me." He laughed mirthlessly, shaking his head. "My marriage proposal was because I couldn't stand another moment being without you. Two years on that island was enough to drive a sane man insane, Teresa. I had a lot of thinking there."

She rose, wincing just a little, and stepped forward so that they were mere inches apart from each other. He didn't reach out to touch her in fear that she didn't want him to.

"I didn't even believe I could love again until you became what you are to me."

"…and I believe you," she told him. "I said some terrible things that night, Jane. I was…I was shocked. I thought you just wanted to marry me so I would work for the FBI and you'd be a free man."

"You don't need to think like that, Teresa." His voice was low and rough. "You need to trust me."

"I do," she replied softly. "I don't know why I even brought it up." She shrugged. "I forgive you, Jane. I really do."

He felt it was okay to touch her, so he reached a tentative hand out and took hold of hers, pulling her gently to him, taking care not to rub her wound against his hip. He knew why she brought it up, and he didn't exactly blame her. He just wanted her to understand that he was completely serious. He felt her small arms wrap around his waist, her head resting against the place where his heart beat only for her.

"You brought it up because it bothered you enough to do so," he told her, his hands wrapping around the small of her back. "It's a normal reaction to fear and the strained. I know you forgive me, Teresa. I never doubted that for one second."

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "For throwing you out that night. I called you and called you. By the time I tried to apologize, you asked for a transfer to Oregon." She stilled in his arms. "Are you going to go back? To Oregon, I mean."

"It took years for me to stand here with you, Teresa," he finally said after a moment. "I wouldn't ruin that. I promise you. No, I won't be going back to Oregon. Not if you'll have me. I called the director while you were in the hospital. He's agreed to let me transfer back."

She knew it. She felt silly for feeling hurt and equally silly for the small piece of anger that flowed in her veins. "I wouldn't say no," Lisbon replied, lifting her head to look him in the eyes. "I'm sure the director won't be none too pleased, though."

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn." He wouldn't tell her he had watched _Gone With The Wind_ while she was asleep. That would be his secret. He chuckled about the Director, whom he knew disliked him. "I think he was forced into it. Our story got a lot of publicity. Are we okay?" asked Jane softly.

Without saying a word, she brought one hand up to the nape of his neck. Her fingertips reaching the little tail at the base of his skull, and, in spite of his best efforts to restrain himself, Jane hugged her tighter to his body, the heat from her radiating to every crevice of his own. His breath sped up as he felt her fingers tether in the small bit of hair at the base of his neck, twisting the blonde curl in her fist. His hands came up from the small of her back to either side of her head, his fingers digging into her hair, the soft tufts jutting out from between his fingers. His eyes darted to her lips, watching her tongue flick out and lick them in an anticipatory reflex. He brought her face inches from his own, her eyes never leaving his. She started to tilt her head and move slightly forward, but Jane took a moment to glance over at the bedside table.

"What is it?" Lisbon murmured as he looked back to her and nodded toward the table.

"Is this what you want?" he asked, though his body hoped she did.

"Yes," she whispered. "I almost died, Jane. Time's too short to waste on such petty, insignificant things. I wish I understood that a long time ago."

"Okay. Then I really think you should take the morphine, Teresa," he stressed, his voice raspy with want. "Please."

"I don't—"

"You're going to need it," he growled softly, his eyes watching the realization crop in hers. "Take them."

Jane didn't wait for her answer. He took his hand from the side of her face and reached over, picking up the bottle of pills from the table. With a swift twist of his wrist and fingers, he got the cap off one-handed, turning the bottle over the table and dumping out several pills. He gathered two of them in the palm of his hand.

"Open," he commanded, placing the pill at her lips.

She opened her mouth, allowing Jane to push the pills in. He could see the skin at her neck bobble in a swallow, and he knew she had swallowed them using her saliva. He replaced his hand on the side of her head and smiled at her.

"Thank you," he told her. "The last thing we need is you in a lot of pain later. I'd feel guilty about it."

"You could just take it easy on me," smiled Lisbon devilishly.

"I," he told her, inclining her head, "don't trust myself that easily. I think it's better if we are safer than sorry. I don't like seeing you in pain, Teresa. If we do this, there will be some pain and soreness, no matter how careful we are."

She understood his place. She needed this, and she felt he did, too. They hadn't gotten past the angry, bitter stranger part of their past, and the pang for intimacy was coursing through the both of them. Popping her sutures was unlikely at this point, but the pain would undoubtedly surface from the rough movements of their bodies friction. The feeling alone of his hands on her and her body tightly glued to his was enough to outweigh the bad with the good. She could see the flecks of want in his blue eyes, and he could feel the rise of heat in her skin coming through her clothing and mingling with the heat of his own.

He watched her eyes flutter shut as he neared her lips with his own. He didn't close his eyes, this time, instead choosing to take in her face as she waited for the contact. Her lips puckered slightly in anticipation, her head tilting slightly in his hands. At the last possible second, Jane closed his eyes and took in her bottom lip, sucking it into his warm mouth. Lisbon responded fiercely, pressing her mouth hard against his and bringing her hand from his nape to cup his whiskered cheek. Her other hand automatically knotted in the lapel of his suit jacket, leaving no part of her free from his body. It was a searing kiss. It said so much in a little gesture: it said _I need you, I forgive you, I trust you_. It said _everything_ and _nothing_. It said _I'm sorry_.

He broke the kiss suddenly, causing Lisbon to gasp loudly as air rushed back into her lungs. He turned her head so that he could kiss her jaw line and dropped his hands to her waist, careful to avoid her sutured skin. He pushed gently on her waist, making her move backward slowly toward the edge of the bed, his kisses leading to the side of her neck, where he could see the bed approaching in front of him.

Lisbon's knees hit the back of the mattress, and she fell back on top of it as Jane advanced. She scooted up a little (wincing just a bit as she did) so that Jane's knee fell in between her legs as he hovered over her. Her hand was still knotted in his lapel, but her other hand was reaching up for his face again.

"Patience, please, Teresa," he told her, pushing her hand down.

"Patience isn't really my strong suit," replied Lisbon, disentangling her other hand from his jacket.

"I know," he laughed. "Although, in this case, I understand your impatience."

He looked down at her face for a moment, taking in her brunette hair fanned out against the white lace of the duvet, to her eyes staring at him in yearning, and down to her red lips, the bottom of which she trapped in her teeth in a smile.

"You're so beautiful," he told her, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from her forehead. "I'm a lucky man."

Lisbon reached up and tugged his jacket off his shoulders.

"Yes," she agreed. "You _are_ one lucky man."

Jane smiled as he leaned up and removed the jacket completely, shrugging out of it and throwing it aside on top of the white carpeted floor beside the bed. He reached down and discarded his shoes, pulling them from the heels, and threw them with his jacket. His socks were next. He reached down and pulled Lisbon's boots free of her feet, tossing them with his, and then sliding off her socks and letting them drop from his hands. His hands lingered over her feet, sliding up her shapely legs as he ascended.

"Glad you agree," he told her, hovering over her once more with a hand on either side of her head, his fists tangling in the duvet.

Lisbon could feel the tightening erection of him on her outer thigh, his readiness made clear through his thin knit trousers. Her fingers lightly rubbed him, his moan almost primal as he felt the soft strokes. Sensing her fingers on him caused a fevered chill to creep up his spine. He lowered his head to kiss her gently on the lips; a sensation that was like a shock to the system. He could smell her perfume she wore getting stronger in reaction to her body's rising heat.

"The morphine kicks in around forty-five minutes, Teresa," he told her placidly. "It's going to make you hazy. I think we should hurry things a little."

"I'm not objecting," croaked Lisbon softly. "Although, I do recall you asking for patience…"

"Hmm," murmured Jane. "Touché."

Her fingers came up to fumble at his shirt buttons. Jane tugged the shirt out of his pants and watched in silence as her fingers flung over each white button, separating the two halves of material and showing the tanned flesh underneath. When the last button was undone, Lisbon trailed a scorching gaze over the muscles beneath before she pushed open the shirt as if it were a curtain and dug her fingernails lightly into his flesh as she explored it. The soft chest muscles. The rib-cage. The sternum. He growled softly as she pushed the shirt past his shoulders, scraping the skin at his shoulder blades with her nails. The shirt joined the other articles of clothing on the floor a few seconds later. Jane took her mouth in his, a hungry, unforgiving kiss enveloping her. His tongue probed her lips, asking for permission, and being granted it. It was ferocious and demanding. The sweet mixing with the bitter.

He could feel her soft curves under him, her breasts pressed against his masculine lines through her shirt. He needed to control gentleness. He knew that. But it was difficult when he could feel every inch of her against him, flattened to the bed with his heavy body. He left her mouth only when he could no longer hold his breath, gasping as he reached down between them to pull the white cotton separating flesh from flesh. With a gentle tug, Jane pulled the shirt over her head, her arms rising above her head as it slid free of her.

"Lucky, _indeed_ ," said Jane, his eyes taking in her naked torso.

His fingers raked over the sensitive skin between her breasts before his hands cupped them delicately. Each thumb flicked the rosy nipple, swollen in need, an action that caused a soft groan and arched back for his trouble. His lips found the side of her neck, her face turning into the duvet with a breathless moan. His hands on her rib-cage, he lowered his mouth to her breasts, suckling her as she lurched under him. His tongue traced the buds, sending her hands up to tangle the duvet on either side of her head. She could feel the soft curls of his hair falling against her collarbone, causing gooseflesh to ripple across her body.

"Oh," she croaked. "Wow."

He reached down and grasped the waist hem of her jeans, the button, and zipper both already open from his earlier attempt at dressing her wound. His fingers curving under the tense denim and soft cotton of her panties. He slid off her to her right side. He smiled at the accompanying groan as his body left hers.

"Relax," he told her. "You have to lift your hips so I can get these off of you."

"That's easy for you to say," she replied, lifting her hips up for him. "Ouch!"

"Did I hurt you?" he asked automatically. "Is it your stitches?"

"No," she answered. "Your elbow."

Jane looked down and could see his elbow was jabbing her in the breast. Quickly, he lowered his arm to steer clear of her and pulled on the materials of her clothing until Lisbon could bring her feet up to pull them off completely by herself. He rocked gently back on top of her and smiled down at her.

"Sorry," he whispered.

"Your turn," was all she replied.

She went to work on Jane's trousers, unbuttoning them and sliding down the zipper. She had some trouble concentrating because he was rubbing the naked flesh of her hip, drawing and circling with the tips of his fingers. The modulated tone of his breathing in her ear wasn't helping, either. Finally, after blocking out his fingers on her skin, she successfully pulled the pants down, along with his boxers, past his hips, pushing the material with her fingers, and inserting a hand over his butt as she slid them down to his knees before he kicked them off. She could feel his freed bulge and warm sac on her leg. She trapped her lip in her teeth to stifle a moan at the scorching heat of him.

Both, now fully naked, took to exploring each other with their fingers: The hot skin of each's hips, the tight muscles of Jane's chest, the warmth and sensitivity of Lisbon's breasts and stomach. Jane's fingers lingered on the sutures on her side, the roughness of them compared to her soft skin under his fingers. His hands flexed over her inner thighs, spreading her legs out for him. He could already see she was ready for him, but he knew teasing her would drive her over the already thin ledge. He dipped his head past her torso.

"I always admired your legs," he told her, moving his hands up a fraction. "You know, the way they looked in those tight jeans you like to wear."

His fingers flared out, touching the sensitive spot that was waiting for him. She gasped in a breath, exhaling it noisily after a few seconds. He smiled as his other hand came up to lie flat against her belly.

"Jane," murmured Lisbon, feeling his breath on her belly and fingertips caress her. Her hand came down in an automatic reflex to grab his wrist.

He could feel himself getting increasingly rigid, and he knew her morphine would be kicking in soon. He wanted to take his time, but he also knew that doing so would result in Lisbon becoming incoherent and falling asleep midway through everything. He had to hurry it along, much to his vexation.

He spread her thighs wider and his mouth nibbled where soft curls of brown hair began. Lisbon arched her back, her breathing unable to stabilize. Her hand flung from his wrist to the back of his head, pressing his hot, moist breath on her. When he felt she was teetering on the edge of pure ecstasy, he pulled back and turned to kiss the soft skin of her inner thigh.

"Jane!" she mumbled, her voice faltering. "God."

"I'll be there in a minute," he promised. "I do like the comparison, though."

Jane lay a small trail of kisses on her inner thigh, making his way up to her pelvic bone and across her belly. He brought his face up level with hers, his hand back at her hip bone, leaving a small gap between their bodies. He watched her breathing, the erratic nature of it exciting him. Her eyes closed for a moment, before opening suddenly and reaching down between them to grab him. The surprise registered on his face because Lisbon couldn't stop herself from laughing. In a quick, strong gesture, she placed him inside of her.

The velveteen warmth of her combined with the surprise was almost too much. The moist heat of her around him was a welcomed feeling, one he had felt before. The breathless groan she elicited when he finally overcame the small shock and started moving within her only drove him deeper. He was moving within her at a rhythmic pace, careful not to rub against her wound. Her hands came up to curve around his back muscles as her legs swung around his waist and interlocked at the ankles.

"No!" he told her huskily, pulling her hands from his back and pinning them to the mattress with his own. "Let me!"

His mouth came down in a hot fever, taking her lips roughly into his as her strangled moans caught against his lips. He was moving within her fast and hard, the sweat from their bodies mingling together as their skin slid in unison. Her hand got free of his and flew up to the blonde curls, latching on to tufts and pulling softly.

"Ouch," she muttered as he thrust into her hard.

He stopped moving, his hips coming to a complete stop and his fast breathing hitting her in the face. "Are you okay?"

"Stitches pulled," she explained, shaking her hand from his hair down to his muscled butt, pressing him into her. "Keep going."

When he was sure she was alright, he picked his pace back up, pushing into her in quick, short thrusts. Her moans were breathless and loud, soft and hard. They were everything he loved to hear. They told him he was doing it right and most of all, she was being pleasured the way she deserved. He could hear the mattress give tiny squeaks with each thrust, and he was suddenly thankful the bed wasn't old and tired, or it would be very noisy for his neighbors, not that he really gave a damn right about now.

"Jane," she whispered softly. "Jane, please…" she trailed off as he felt her body go stiff underneath him.

He looked down at her eyes fluttering shut, and he knew she was there, her body arching off the bed and against him, her hands falling limp at the small of his back. He watched her as she came, the way her lips curled down and the way her fingers curled between his against the mattress. He pushed in again, feeling her contract around him, her moans becoming incoherent mumbling. He waited for her to come down from her high for a few seconds before pushing in deeper than before, his body shuttering against hers as he came. His breathing ragged, he lay against her trying to keep up control, the sweat from their skin lubricating them in a soft glow. Jane reached up to kiss her, his lips soft now. Her hands were free now, and she laced them behind his neck, pulling his mouth to hers. The kiss wasn't urgent, anymore. Instead, it was soft and placid. It was a gentle kiss but said all it needed to say.

Both, still coming down from their high, lie in each other's arms. There was nothing there that could break them. They had come through worse in the years before Jane fled, and they would do so now. The sex wasn't just sex. It was a healing power that gave everything they had to each other, and nothing or no one could take that away. The only sound in the entire room was of them breathing rapidly and the sounds of the sweat-slick duvet crinkling under their bodies.

"I love you," Jane told her, reaching over to caress her cheek. "So much."

"I love you, too," she told him, snuggling against his chest. Her words were getting slurred, and he knew the medication was starting to take effect.

"Do you hurt?" he asked her.

"Not anymore," she told him hazily.

He didn't know to what she was referring, but he suspected it wasn't just her stitched skin that didn't hurt. He pulled her into his arms and ran a hand through her damp hair.

"That's good," he whispered, kissing her perspired forehead. "I never want you to hurt."

"I know."

"Will you marry me, Teresa?" He hesitated, his fingers playing idly at her naked hip. "Is the timing bad this time, too?"

"Yeah," she replied. "I will. Why not?"

He smiled. "We will discuss this in the morning. I think your morphine has inhibited you."

"Has not!" she protested. "I'm fine." Her words started to slur, and he felt her body slowly relax.

He smiled. "Good night, Teresa."

And he kissed her forehead for the last time before, he, too, succumbed to sleep.

 **-THE END-**


End file.
